LIBRARY    OF 

HENRY  C.  FALL- 

AND  KATHARINE  A.  FALL 


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WORKS.  New  Riverside  Edition.  With  several 
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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


_  Bt  is  difficult  to 
I  hit    upon   suitable   titles   for   books. 

with    '\Vake-Robin'   and 

:amos  written  on   paper. 

does  wake-robin   mean?'   he 

"  'It's   a   spring   flower,'   I   replied. 
"  'Then  that  is  exactly  the  name  you 


3,n 

though    I    accepted    his  :    choice    I 
in    considerable   doubt." 


WAKE-ROBIN 


BY 

JOHN  BURROUGHS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

2Ci)r  Stbt rstOt  ^« 
1897 


Copyright,  1871  and  1878, 
BT  JOHN   BURKOUGHS. 

Copyright,  1885, 
BT  HOUGHTON,  MIFFUN  &  CO. 

AU  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Frets,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
XUctrotyped  and  Printed  by  U.  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


PEEFAOE. 

THIS  is  mainly  a  book  about  the  Birds,  or 
more  properly  an  invitation  to  the  study  of 
Ornithology,  and  the  purpose  of  the  author 
will  be  carried  out  in  proportion  as  it  awak- 
ens and  stimulates  the  interest  of  the  reader 
in  this  branch  of  Natural  History. 

Though  written  less  in  the  spirit  of  exact 
science  than  with  the  freedom  of  love  and 
old  acquaintance,  yet  I  have  in  no  instance 
taken  liberties  with  facts,  or  allowed  my  im- 
agination to  influence  me  to  the  extent  of 
giving  a  false  impression  or  a  wrong  color- 
ing. I  have  reaped  my  harvest  more  in  the 
woods  than  in  the  study  ;  what  I  offer,  in 
fact,  is  a  careful  and  conscientious  record  of 
actual  observations  and  experiences,  and  is 
true  as  it  stands  written,  every  word  of  it. 
But  what  has  interested  me  most  in  Orni- 
thology is  the  pursuit,  the  chase,  the  discov- 


2050994 


yi  PREFACE. 

ery ;  that  part  of  it  which  is  akin  to  hunt- 
ing, fishing,  and  wild  sports,  and  which  I 
could  carry  with  me  in  my  eye  and  ear 
wherever  I  went. 

I  cannot  answer  with  much  confidence  the 
poet's  inquiry, 

"Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun  ?  " 

but  I  have  done  what  I  could  to  bring 
home  the  "earth  and  the  sky"  with  the 
sparrow  I  heard  "singing  at  dawn  on  the 
alder  bough."  In  other  words,  I  have  tried 
to  present  a  live  bird,  —  a  bird  in  the  woods 
or  the  fields,  —  with  the  atmosphere  and 
associations  of  the  place,  and  not  merely  a 
stuffed  and  labelled  specimen. 

A  more  specific  title  for  the  volume  would 
have  suited  me  better,  but  not  being  able  to 
satisfy  myself  in  this  direction,  I  cast  about 
for  a  word  thoroughly  in  the  atmosphere 
and  spirit  of  the  book,  which  I  hope  I  have 
found  in  "  Wake-Robin,"  —  the  common 
name  of  the  white  Trillium,  which  blooms 
in  all  our  woods,  and  which  marks  the  arri- 
val of  all  the  birds.  * 


CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS 9 

II.  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS 53 

III.  ADIRONDAC 95 

IV.  BIRDS'-NESTS 125 

V.  SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL 167 

VI.  BIRCH  BROWSINGS 205 

VII.   THE  BLUEBIRD 244 

VIII.  THE  INVITATION .  258 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

SPRING  in  our  northern  climate  may  fairly 
be  said  to  extend  from  the  middle  of  March 
to  the  middle  of  June.  At  least,  the  vernal 
tide  continues  to  rise  until  the  latter  date, 
and  it  is  not  till  after  the  summer  solstice 
that  the  shoots  and  twigs  begin  to  harden 
and  turn  to  wood,  or  the  grass  to  lose  any  of 
its  freshness  and  succulency. 

It  is  this  period  that  marks  the  return  of 
the  birds,  —  one  or  two  of  the  more  hardy 
or  half-domesticated  species,  like  the  song- 
sparrow  and  the  bluebird,  usually  arriving 
in  March,  while  the  rarer  and  more  brilliant 
wood-birds  bring  up  the  procession  in  June. 
But  each  stage  of  the  advancing  season  gives 
prominence  to  certain  species,  as  to  certain 
flowers.  The  dandelion  tells  me  when  to 
look  for  the  swallow,  the  dog-toothed  violet 
when  to  expect  the  wood-thrush,  and  when  I 
have  found  the  wake-robin  in  bloom  I  know 
the  season  is  fairly  inaugurated.  With  me 
this  flower  is  associated,  not  merely  with  the 


10  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

awakening  of  Robin,  for  he  has  been  awake 
some  weeks,  but  with  the  universal  awaken- 
ing and  rehabilitation  of  nature. 

Yet  the  coming  and  going  of  the  birds 
is  more  or  less  a  mystery  and  a  surprise. 
We  go  out  in  the  morning,  and  no  thrush 
or  vireo  is  to  be  heard ;  we  go  out  again, 
and  every  tree  and  grove  is  musical;  yet 
again,  and  all  is  silent.  Who  saw  them 
come  ?  Who  saw  them  depart  ? 

This  pert  little  winter-wren,  for  instance, 
darting  in  and  out  the  fence,  diving  under 
the  rubbish  here  and  coming  up  yards  away, 
how  does  he  manage  with  those  little  cir- 
cular wings  to  compass  degrees  and  zones, 
and  arrive  always  in  the  nick  of  time  ?  Last 
August  I  saw  him  in  the  remotest  wilds  of 
the  Adirondacs,  impatient  and  inquisitive 
as  usual ;  a  few  weeks  later,  on  the  Potomac, 
I  was  greeted  by  the  same  hardy  little  busy- 
body. Does  he  travel  by  easy  stages  from 
bush  to  bush  and  from  wood  to  wood?  or 
has  that  compact  little  body  force  and  cour- 
age to  brave  the  night  and  the  upper  air,  and 
so  achieve  leagues  at  one  pull  ? 

And  yonder  bluebird  with  the  earth  tinge 
on  his  breast  and  the  sky  tinge  on  his  back, 
—  did  he  come  down  out  of  heaven  on  that 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  11 

bright  March  morning  when  he  told  us  so 
softly  and  plaintively  that  if  we  pleased, 
spring  had  come  ?  Indeed,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  return  of  the  birds  more  curious  and 
suggestive  than  in  the  first  appearance,  or 
rumors  of  the  appearance,  of  this  little  blue- 
coat.  The  bird  at  first  seems  a  mere  wan- 
dering voice  in  the  air ;  one  hears  its  call  or 
carol  on  some  bright  March  morning,  but  is 
uncertain  of  its  source  or  direction ;  it  falls 
like  a  drop  of  rain  when  no  cloud  is  visible ; 
one  looks  and  listens,  but  to  no  purpose. 
The  weather  changes,  perhaps  a  cold  snap 
with  snow  comes  on,  and  it  may  be  a  week 
before  I  hear  the  note  again,  and  this  time 
or  the  next  perchance  see  the  bird  sitting  on 
a  stake  in  the  fence  lifting  his  wing  as  he 
calls  cheerily  to  his  mate.  Its  notes  now  be- 
come daily  more  frequent,  the  birds  multiply, 
and,  flitting  from  point  to  point,  call  and 
warble  more  confidently  and  gleefully.  Their 
boldness  increases  till  one  sees  them  hover- 
ing with  a  saucy,  inquiring  air  about  barns 
and  out-buildings,  peeping  into  dove-cotes, 
and  stable  windows,  inspecting  knot-holes 
and  pump-trees,  intent  only  on  a  place  to 
nest.  They  wage  war  against  robins  and 
wrens,  pick  quarrels  with  swallows,  and  seem 


12  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

to  deliberate  for  days  over  the  policy  of  tak- 
ing forcible  possession  of  one  of  the  mud- 
houses  of  the  latter.  But  as  the  season  ad- 
vances they  drift  more  into  the  background. 
Schemes  of  conquest  which  they  at  first 
seemed  bent  upon  are  abandoned,  and  they 
settle  down  very  quietly  in  their  old  quarters 
in  remote  stumpy  fields. 

Not  long  after  the  bluebird  comes  the 
robin,  sometimes  in  March,  but  in  most  of 
the  Northern  States  April  is  the  month  of 
the  robin.  In  large  numbers  they  scour  the 
fields  and  groves.  You  hear  their  piping  in 
the  meadow,  in  the  pasture,  on  the  hill-side. 
Walk  in  the  woods,  and  the  dry  leaves  rustle 
with  the  whir  of  their  wings,  the  air  is  vocal 
with  their  cheery  call.  In  excess  of  joy  and 
vivacity,  they  run,  leap,  scream,  chase  each 
other  through  the  air,  diving  and  sweeping 
among  the  trees  with  perilous  rapidity. 

In  that  free,  fascinating,  half-work  and 
half-play  pursuit,  sugar-making,  —  a  pursuit 
which  yet  lingers  in  many  parts  of  New  York, 
as  in  New  England,  —  the  robin  is  one's  con- 
stant companion.  When  the  day  is  sunny 
and  the  ground  bare,  you  meet  him  at  all 
points  and  hear  him  at  all  hours.  At  sunset, 
on  the  tops  of  the  tall  maples,  with  look 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  13 

heavenward,  and  in  a  spirit  of  utter  abandon- 
ment, he  carols  his  simple  strain.  And  sitting 
thus  amid  the  stark,  silent  trees,  above  the 
wet,  cold  earth,  with  the  chill  of  winter  still 
in  the  air,  there  is  no  fitter  or  sweeter 
songster  in  the  whole  round  year.  It  is  in 
keeping  with  the  scene  and  the  occasion. 
How  round  and  genuine  the  notes  are,  and 
how  eagerly  our  ears  drink  them  in !  The 
first  utterance,  and  the  spell  of  winter  is 
thoroughly  broken,  and  the  remembrance  of 
it  afar  off. 

Robin  is  one  of  the  most  native  and  dem- 
ocratic of  our  birds  ;  he  is  one  of  the  fam- 
ily, and  seems  much  nearer  to  us  than  those 
rare,  exotic  visitants,  as  the  orchard  starling 
or  rose-breasted  grossbeak,  with  their  dis- 
tant, high-bred  ways.  Hardy,  noisy,  frolic- 
some, neighborly  and  domestic  in  his  habits, 
strong  of  wing  and  bold  in  spirit,  he  is  the 
pioneer  of  the  thrush  family,  and  well  worthy 
of  the  finer  artists  whose  coming  he  heralds 
and  in  a  measure  prepares  us  for. 

I  could  wish  Robin  less  native  and  plebeian 
in  one  respect,  —  the  building  of  his  nest. 
Its  coarse  material  and  rough  masonry  are 
creditable  neither  to  his  skill  as  a  workman 
nor  to  his  taste  as  an  artist.  I  am  the  more 


14  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

forcibly  reminded  of  his  deficiency  in  this 
respect  from  observing  yonder  humming- 
bird's nest,  which  is  a  marvel  of  fitness  and 
adaptation,  a  proper  setting  for  this  winged 
gem,  the  body  of  it  composed  of  a  white, 
felt-like  substance,  probably  the  down  of 
some  plant  or  the  wool  of  some  worm,  and 
toned  down  in  keeping  with  the  branch  on 
which  it  sits  by  minute  tree-lichens,  woven 
together  by  threads  as  fine  and  frail  as  gos- 
samer. From  Robin's  good  looks  and  mu- 
sical turn  we  might  reasonably  predict  a 
domicile  of  equal  fitness  and  elegance.  At 
least  I  demand  of  him  as  clean  and  hand- 
some a  nest  as  the  king-bird's,  whose  harsh 
jingle,  compared  with  Robin's  evening  mel- 
ody, is  as  the  clatter  of  pots  and  kettles  be- 
side the  tone  of  a  flute.  I  love  his  note  and 
ways  better  even  than  those  of  the  orchard 
starling  or  the  Baltimore  oriole ;  yet  his 
nest,  compared  with  theirs,  is  a  half-subter- 
ranean hut  contrasted  with  a  Roman  villa. 
There  is  something  courtly  and  poetical  in  a 
pensile  nest.  Next  to  a  castle  in  the  air  is 
a  dwelling  suspended  to  the  slender  branch 
of  a  tall  tree,  swayed  and  rocked  forever  by 
the  wind.  Why  need  wings  be  afraid  of 
falling?  Why  build  only  where  boys  can 


THE  RETURN  OF   THE  BIRDS.  15 

climb  ?  After  all,  we  must  set  it  down  to 
the  account  of  Robin's  democratic  turn ;  he 
is  no  aristocrat,  but  one  of  the  people ;  and 
therefore  we  should  expect  stability  in  his 
workmanship  rather  than  elegance. 

Another  April  bird,  which  makes  her  ap- 
pearance sometimes  earlier  and  sometimes 
later  than  Robin,  and  whose  memory  I 
fondly  cherish,  is  the  Phoabe-bird,  the  pio- 
neer of  the  fly-catchers.  In  the  inland  farm- 
ing districts  I  used  to  notice  her,  on  some 
bright  morning  about  Easter-day,  proclaim- 
ing her  arrival  with  much  variety  of  motion 
and  attitude,  from  the  peak  of  the  barn  or 
hay-shed.  As  yet,  you  may  have  heard  only 
the  plaintive,  homesick  note  of  the  bluebird, 
or  the  faint  trill  of  the  song-sparrow,  and 
Phoebe's  clear,  vivacious  assurance  of  her 
veritable  bodily  presence  among  us  again  is 
welcomed  by  all  ears.  At  agreeable  inter- 
vals in  her  lay  she  describes  a  circle  or  an 
ellipse  in  the  air,  ostensibly  prospecting  for 
insects,  but  really,  I  suspect,  as  an  artistic 
flourish,  thrown  in  to  make  up  in  some  way 
for  the  deficiency  of  her  musical  perform- 
ance. If  plainness  of  dress  indicates  powers 
of  song,  as  it  usually  does,  then  Phoebe 
ought  to  be  unrivalled  in  musical  ability,  for 


16  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

surely  that  ashen-gray  suit  is  the  superlative 
of  plainness ;  and  that  form,  likewise,  would 
hardly  pass  for  a  "  perfect  figure  "  of  a  bird. 
The  seasonableness  of  her  coming,  however, 
and  her  civil,  neighborly  ways,  shall  make 
up  for  all  deficiencies  in  song  and  plumage. 
After  a  few  weeks  Phoebe  is  seldom  seen, 
except  as  she  darts  from  her  moss-covered 
nest  beneath  some  bridge  or  shelving  cliff. 

Another  April  comer,  who  arrives  shortly 
after  Robin-redbreast,  with  whom  he  associ- 
ates both  at  this  season  and  in  the  autumn, 
is  the  gold- winged  woodpecker,  alias  "  high- 
hole,"  alias  "  flicker,"  alias  "  yarup."  He 
is  an  old  favorite  of  my  boyhood,  and  his 
note  to  me  means  very  much.  He  announces 
his  arrival  by  a  long,  loud  call,  repeated 
from  the  dry  branch  of  some  tree,  or  a  stake 
in  the  fence  —  a  thoroughly  melodious  April 
sound.  I  think  how  Solomon  finished  that 
beautiful  description  of  spring,  "  And  the 
voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  the  land,"  and 
see  that  a  description  of  spring  in  this  farm- 
ing country,  to  be  equally  characteristic, 
should  culminate  in  like  manner,  —  "  And 
the  call  of  the  high-hole  comes  up  from  the 
wood." 

It  is  a  loud,  strong,  sonorous  call,  and  does 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  17 

not  seem  to  imply  an  answer,  but  rather  to 
subserve  some  purpose  of  love  or  music.  It 
is  "  Yarup's "  proclamation  of  peace  and 
good-will  to  all.  On  looking  at  the  matter 
closely,  I  perceive  that  most  birds,  not  de- 
nominated songsters,  have,  in  the  spring, 
some  note  or  sound  or  call  that  hints  of  a 
song,  and  answers  imperfectly  the  end  of 
beauty  and  art.  As  a  "  livelier  iris  changes 
on  the  burnished  dove,"  and  the  fancy  of 
the  young  man  turns  lightly  to  thoughts  of 
his  pretty  cousin,  so  the  same  renewing  spirit 
touches  the  "  silent  singers,"  and  they  are  no 
longer  dumb ;  faintly  they  lisp  the  first  syl- 
lables of  the  marvellous  tale.  Witness  the 
clear,  sweet  whistle  of  the  gray-crested  tit- 
mouse, the  soft,  nasal  piping  of  the  nuthatch, 
the  amorous,  vivacious  warble  of  the  blue- 
bird, the  long,  rich  note  of  the  meadow-lark, 
the  whistle  of  the  quail,  the  drumming  of 
the  partridge,  the  animation  and  loquacity 
of  the  swallows,  and  the  like.  Even  the  hen 
has  a  homely,  contented  carol ;  and  I  credit 
the  owls  with  a  desire  to  fill  the  night  with 
music.  All  birds  are  incipient  or  would-be 
songsters  in  the  spring.  I  find  corroborative 
evidence  of  this  even  in  the  crowing  of  the 
cock.  The  flowering  of  the  maple  is  not  so 


18  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

obvious  as  that  of  the  magnolia ;  neverthe- 
less, there  is  actual  inflorescence. 

Few  writers  award  any  song  to  that  fa- 
miliar little  sparrow,  the  Socialis  ;  yet  who 
that  has  observed  him  sitting  by  the  way- 
side, and  repeating,  with  devout  attitude, 
that  fine  sliding  chant,  does  not  recognize 
the  neglect  ?  Who  has  heard  the  snowbird 
sing  ?  Yet  he  has  a  lisping  warble  very  sa- 
vory to  the  ear.  I  have  heard  him  indulge 
in  it  even  in  February. 

Even  the  cow-bunting  feels  the  musical 
tendency,  and  aspires  to  its  expression,  with 
the  rest.  Perched  upon  the  topmost  branch, 
beside  his  mate  or  mates,  —  for  he  is  quite  a 
polygamist  and  usually  has  two  or  three  de- 
mure little  ladies  in  faded  black  beside  him, 
—  generally  in  the  early  part  of  the  day,  he 
seems  literally  to  vomit  up  his  notes.  Ap- 
parently with  much  labor  and  effort,  they 
gurgle  and  blubber  up  out  of  him,  falling  on 
the  ear  with  a  peculiar  subtile  ring,  as  of 
turning  water  from  a  glass  bottle,  and  not 
without  a  certain  pleasing  cadence. 

Neither  is  the  common  woodpecker  en- 
tirely insensible  to  the  wooing  of  the  spring, 
and,  like  the  partridge,  testifies  his  apprecia- 
tion of  melody  after  quite  a  primitive  fash- 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  19 

ion.  Passing  through  the  woods,  on  some 
clear,  still  morning  in  March,  while  the  me- 
tallic ring  and  tension  of  winter  are  still  in 
the  earth  and  air,  the  silence  is  suddenly 
broken  by  long,  resonant  hammering  upon 
a  dry  limb  or  stub.  It  is  Downy  beating  a 
reveille  to  spring.  In  the  utter  stillness  and 
amid  the  rigid  forms  we  listen  with  pleasure ; 
and  as  it  comes  to  my  ear  of  tener  at  this  sea- 
son than  at  any  other,  I  freely  exonerate  the 
author  of  it  from  the  imputation  of  any  gas- 
tronomic motives,  and  credit  him  with  a  gen- 
uine musical  performance. 

It  is  to  be  expected,  therefore,  that  "  Yel- 
low-hammer" will  respond  to  the  general 
tendency,  and  contribute  his  part  to  the 
spring  chorus.  His  April  call  is  his  finest 
touch,  his  most  musical  expression. 

I  recall  an  ancient  maple  standing  sentry 
to  a  large  sugar-bush,  that,  year  after  year, 
afforded  protection  to  a  brood  of  yellow-ham- 
mers in  its  decayed  heart.  A  week  or  two 
before  the  nesting  seemed  actually  to  have 
begun,  three  or  four  of  these  birds  might  be 
seen,  on  almost  any  bright  morning,  gambol- 
ling and  courting  amid  its  decayed  branches. 
Sometimes  you  would  hear  only  a  gentle, 
persuasive  cooing,  or  a  quiet,  confidential 


20  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

chattering ;  then  that  long,  loud  call,  taken 
up  by  first  one,  then  another,  as  they  sat 
about  upon  the  naked  limbs  ;  anon,  a  sort  of 
wild,  rollicking  laughter,  intermingled  with 
various  cries,  yelps,  and  squeals,  as  if  some 
incident  had  excited  their  mirth  and  ridi- 
cule. Whether  this  social  hilarity  and  bois- 
terousness  is  in  celebration  of  the  pairing 
or  mating  ceremony,  or  whether  it  is  only 
a  sort  of  annual  "  house-warming  "  common 
among  high-holes  on  resuming  their  summer 
quarters,  is  a  question  upon  which  I  reserve 
my  judgment. 

Unlike  most  of  his  kinsmen,  the  golden- 
wing  prefers  the  fields  and  the  borders  of  the 
forest  to  the  deeper  seclusion  of  the  woods, 
and  hence,  contrary  to  the  habit  of  his  tribe, 
obtains  most  of  his  subsistence  from  the 
ground,  probing  it  for  ants  and  crickets. 
He  is  not  quite  satisfied  with  being  a  wood- 
pecker. He  courts  the  society  of  the  robin 
and  the  finches,  abandons  the  trees  for  the 
meadow,  and  feeds  eagerly  upon  berries  and 
grain.  What  may  be  the  final  upshot  of 
this  course  of  living  is  a  question  worthy 
the  attention  of  Darwin.  Will  his  taking  to 
the  ground  and  his  pedestrian  feats  result  in 
lengthening  his  legs,  his  feeding  upon  berries 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  21 

and  grains  subdue  his  tints  and  soften  his 
voice,  and  his  associating  with  Robin  put  a 
song  into  his  heart  ? 

Indeed,  what  would  be  more  interesting 
than  the  history  of  our  birds  for  the  last  two 
or  three  centuries  ?  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  presence  of  man  has  exerted  a  very 
marked  and  friendly  influence  upon  them, 
since  they  so  multiply  in  his  society.  The 
birds  of  California,  it  is  said,  were  mostly 
silent  till  after  its  settlement,  and  I  doubt  if 
the  Indians  heard  the  wood-thrush  as  we  hear 
him.  Where  did  the  bobolink  disport  him- 
self before  there  were  meadows  in  the  North 
and  rice  fields  in  the  South?  Was  he  the 
same  blithe,  merry-hearted  beau  then  as 
now  ?  And  the  sparrow,  the  lark,  and  the 
goldfinch,  birds  that  seem  so  indigenous  to 
the  open  fields  and  so  averse  to  the  woods, 
—  we  cannot  conceive  of  their  existence  in 
a  vast  wilderness  and  without  man. 

But  to  return.  The  song-sparrow,  that 
universal  favorite  and  firstling  of  the  spring, 
comes  before  April,  and  its  simple  strain 
gladdens  all  hearts. 

May  is  the  month  of  the  swallows  and  the 
orioles.  There  are  many  other  distinguished 
arrivals,  indeed  nine  tenths  of  the  birds  are 


22  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

here  by  the  last  week  in  May,  yet  the  swal- 
lows and  orioles  are  the  most  conspicuous. 
The  bright  plumage  of  the  latter  seems 
really  like  an  arrival  from  the  tropics.  I 
see  them  dash  through  the  blossoming  trees, 
and  all  the  forenoon  hear  their  incessant 
warbling  and  wooing.  The  swallows  dive 
and  chatter  about  the  barn,  or  squeak  and 
build  beneath  the  eaves,  the  partridge  drums 
in  the  fresh  sprouting  woods ;  the  long,  ten- 
der note  of  the  meadow-lark  comes  up  from 
the  meadow ;  and  at  sunset,  from  every 
marsh  and  pond  come  the  ten  thousand 
voices  of  the  hylas.  May  is  the  transition 
month,  and  exists  to  connect  April  and  June, 
the  root  with  the  flower. 

With  June  the  cup  is  full,  our  hearts  are 
satisfied,  there  is  no  more  to  be  desired.  The 
perfection  of  the  season,  among  other  things, 
has  brought  the  perfection  of  the  song  and 
plumage  of  the  birds.  The  master  artists 
are  all  here ;  and  the  expectations  excited 
by  the  robin  and  the  song-sparrow  are  fully 
justified.  The  thrushes  have  all  come  ;  and 
I  sit  down  upon  the  first  rock,  with  hands 
full  of  the  pink  azalea,  to  listen.  With  me 
the  cuckoo  does  not  arrive  till  June ;  and  of- 
ten the  goldfinch,  the  king-bird,  the  scarlet 


THE  RETURN  OF   THE  BIRDS.  23 

tanager  delay  their  coming  till  then.  In  the 
meadows  the  bobolink  is  in  all  his  glory ;  in 
the  high  pastures  the  field-sparrow  sings  his 
breezy  vesper-hymn  ;  and  the  woods  are  un- 
folding to  the  music  of  the  thrushes. 

The  cuckoo  is  one  of  the  most  solitary 
birds  of  our  forests,  and  is  strangely  tame 
and  quiet,  appearing  equally  untouched  by 
joy  or  grief,  fear  or  anger.  Something  re- 
mote seems  ever  weighing  upon  his  mind. 
His  note  or  call  is  as  of  one  lost  or  wander- 
ing, and  to  the  farmer  is  prophetic  of  rain. 
Amid  the  general  joy  and  the  sweet  assur- 
ance of  things,  I  love  to  listen  to  the  strange 
clairvoyant  call.  Heard  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away,  from  out  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
there  is  something  peculiarly  weird  and 
monkish  about  it.  Wordsworth's  lines  upon 
the  European  species  apply  equally  well  to 
ours : — 

"  O  blithe  new-comer!  I  have  heard, 

I  hear  thee  and  rejoice : 
O  cuckoo !  shall  I  call  thee  bird  ? 
Or  but  a  wandering  voice  ? 

"  While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass, 

Thy  loud  note  smites  my  ear ! 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass, 
At  once  far  off  and  near ! 


24  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

"  Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  spring  ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 
No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing, 
A  voice,  a  mystery." 


The  black-billed  is  the  only  species  found 
in  my  locality,  the  yellow-billed  abounds  far- 
ther south.  Their  note  or  call  is  nearly  the 
same.  The  former  sometimes  suggests  the 
voice  of  a  turkey.  The  call  of  the  latter 
may  be  suggested  thus  :  k-k-k-k-k-kow,  kow, 
kow-ow,  Icow-ow. 

The  yellow-billed  will  take  up  his  stand 
in  a  tree  and  explore  its  branches  till  he  has 
caught  every  worm.  He  sits  on  a  twig,  and 
with  a  peculiar  swaying  movement  of  his 
head  examines  the  surrounding  foliage. 
When  he  discovers  his  prey,  he  leaps  upon 
it  in  a  fluttering  manner. 

In  June  the  black-billed  makes  a  tour 
through  the  orchard  and  garden,  regaling 
himself  upon  the  canker-worms.  At  this 
time  he  is  one  of  the  tamest  of  birds,  and 
will  allow  you  to  approach  within  a  few 
yards  of  him.  I  have  even  come  within  a 
few  feet  of  one  without  seeming  to  excite 
his  fear  or  suspicion.  He  is  quite  unsophis- 
ticated, or  else  royally  indifferent. 

The   plumage   of    the  cuckoo   is   a  rich 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  25 

glossy  brown,  and  is  unrivalled  in  beauty  by 
any  other  neutral  tint  with  which  I  am  ac- 
quainted. It  is  also  remarkable  for  its  firm- 
ness and  fineness. 

Notwithstanding  the  disparity  in  size  and 
color,  the  black-billed  species  has  certain 
peculiarities  that  remind  one  of  the  passen- 
ger-pigeon. His  eye,  with  its  red  circle,  the 
shape  of  his  head,  and  his  motions  on  alight- 
ing and  taking  flight,  quickly  suggest  the 
resemblance ;  though  in  grace  and  speed, 
when  on  the  wing,  he  is  far  inferior.  His 
tail  seems  disproportionately  long,  like  that 
of  the  red  thrush,  and  his  flight  among  the 
trees  is  very  still,  contrasting  strongly  with 
the  honest  clatter  of  the  robin  or  pigeon. 

Have  you  heard  the  song  of  the  field- 
sparrow  ?  If  you  have  lived  in  a  pastoral 
country  with  broad  upland  pastures,  you 
could  hardly  have  missed  him.  Wilson,  I 
believe,  calls  him  the  grass-finch,  and  was 
evidently  unacquainted  with  his  powers  of 
song.  The  two  white  lateral  quills  in  his 
tail,  and  his  habit  of  running  and  skulking 
a  few  yards  in  advance  of  you  as  you  walk 
through  the  fields,  are  sufficient  to  identify 
him.  Not  in  meadows  or  orchards,  but  in 
high,  breezy  pasture-grounds,  will  you  look 


26  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

for  him.  His  song  is  most  noticeable  after 
sundown,  when  other  birds  are  silent ;  for 
which  reason  he  has  been  aptly  called  the 
vesper-sparrow.  The  farmer  following  his 
team  from  the  field  at  dusk  catches  his 
sweetest  strain.  His  song  is  not  so  brisk 
and  varied  as  that  of  the  song-sparrow, 
being  softer  and  wilder,  sweeter  and  more 
plaintive.  Add  the  best  parts  of  the  lay  of 
the  latter  to  the  sweet  vibrating  chant  of 
the  wood-sparrow,  and  you  have  the  evening 
hymn  of  the  vesper-bird,  —  the  poet  of  the 
plain,  unadorned  pastures.  Go  to  those 
broad,  smooth,  uplying  fields  where  the  cat- 
tle and  sheep  are  grazing,  and  sit  down  in 
the  twilight  on  one  of  those  warm,  clean 
stones,  and  listen  to  this  song.  On  every 
side,  near  and  remote,  from  out  the  short 
grass  which  the  herds  are  cropping,  the 
strain  rises.  Two  or  three  long,  silver  notes 
of  peace  and  rest,  ending  in  some  subdued 
trills  and  quavers,  constitute  each  separate 
song.  Often  you  will  catch  only  one  or  two 
of  the  bars,  the  breeze  having  blown  the 
minor  part  away.  Such  unambitious,  quiet, 
unconscious  melody  !  It  is  one  of  the  most 
characteristic  sounds  in  Nature.  The  grass, 
the  stones,  the  stubble,  the  furrow,  the  quiet 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  27 

herds,  and  the  warm  twilight  among  the 
hills,  are  all  subtilely  expressed  in  this 
song ;  this  is  what  they  are  at  last  capable 
of. 

The  female  builds  a  plain  nest  in  the  open 
field,  without  so  much  as  a  bush  or  thistle 
or  tuft  of  grass  to  protect  it  or  mark  its 
site ;  you  may  step  upon  it  or  the  cattle 
may  tread  it  into  the  ground.  But  the  dan- 
ger from  this  source,  I  presume,  the  bird 
considers  less  than  that  from  another. 
Skunks  and  foxes  have  a  very  impertinent 
curiosity,  as  Finchie  well  knows,  —  and  a 
bank  or  hedge,  or  a  rank  growth  of  grass 
or  thistles,  that  might  promise  protection 
and  cover  to  mouse  or  bird,  these  cunning 
rogues  would  be  apt  to  explore  most  thor- 
oughly. The  partridge  is  undoubtedly  ac- 
quainted with  the  same  process  of  reason- 
ing ;  for,  like  the  vesper-bird,  she,  too,  nests 
in  open,  unprotected  places,  avoiding  all 
show  of  concealment,  —  coming  from  the 
tangled  and  almost  impenetrable  parts  of 
the  forest,  to  the  clean,  open  woods,  where 
she  can  command  all  the  approaches  and 
fly  with  equal  ease  in  any  direction. 

Another  favorite  sparrow,  but  little  no- 
ticed, is  the  wood  or  bush  sparrow,  usually 


28  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

called  by  the  ornithologists  Spizella  pusilla. 
Its  size  and  form  is  that  of  the  socialis,  but 
is  less  distinctly  marked,  being  of  a  duller, 
redder  tinge.  He  prefers  remote  bushy 
heathery  fields,  where  his  song  is  one  of  the 
sweetest  to  be  heard.  It  is  sometimes  very 
noticeable,  especially  early  in  spring.  I  re- 
member sitting  one  bright  day  in  the  still 
leafless  April  woods,  when  one  of  these  birds 
struck  up  a  few  rods  from  me,  repeating  its 
lay  at  short  intervals  for  nearly  an  hour. 
It  was  a  perfect  piece  of  wood-music,  and 
was  of  course  all  the  more  noticeable  for 
being  projected  upon  such  a  broad  unoccu- 
pied page  of  silence.  Its  song  is  like  the 
words,  fe-o,  fe-o,  fe-o,  few,  few,  few,  fee 
fee  fee,  uttered  at  first  high  and  leisurely, 
but  running  very  rapidly  toward  the  close, 
which  is  low  and  soft. 

Still  keeping  among  the  unrecognized,  the 
white-eyed  vireo,  or  fly-catcher,  deserves  par- 
ticular mention.  The  song  of  this  bird  is 
not  particularly  sweet  and  soft ;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  is  a  little  hard  and  shrill,  like  that 
of  the  indigo-bird  or  oriole  ;  but  for  bright- 
ness, volubility,  execution,  and  power  of 
imitation,  he  is  unsurpassed  by  any  of  our 
northern  birds.  His  ordinary  note  is  for- 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  29 

cible  and  emphatic,  but,  as  stated,  not  espe- 
cially musical :  Chick-a-re'r-chick,  he  seems 
to  say,  hiding  himself  in  the  low,  dense  un- 
dergrowth, and  eluding  your  most  vigilant 
search,  as  if  playing  some  part  in  a  game. 
But  in  July  or  August,  if  you  are  on  good 
terms  with  the  sylvan  deities,  you  may  listen 
to  a  far  more  rare  and  artistic  performance. 
Your  first  impression  will  be  that  that  clus- 
ter of  azalea,  or  that  clump  of  swamp- 
huckleberry,  conceals  three  or  four  different 
songsters,  each  vying  with  the  others  to 
lead  the  chorus.  Such  a  medley  of  notes, 
snatched  from  half  the  songsters  of  the 
field  and  forest,  and  uttered  with  the  utmost 
clearness  and  rapidity,  I  am  sure  you  cannot 
hear  short  of  the  haunts  of  the  genuine 
mocking-bird.  If  not  fully  and  accurately 
repeated,  there  are  at  least  suggested  the 
notes  of  the  robin,  wren,  cat-bird,  high-hole, 
goldfinch,  and  song-sparrow.  The  pip,  pip 
of  the  last  is  produced  so  accurately  that  I 
verily  believe  it  would  deceive  the  bird  her- 
self ;  —  and  the  whole  uttered  in  such  rapid 
succession  that  it  seems  as  if  the  movement 
that  gives  the  concluding  note  of  one  strain 
must  form  the  first  note  of  the  next.  The 
effect  ia  very  rich,  and,  to  my  ear,  entirely 


30  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

unique.  The  performer  is  very  careful  not 
to  reveal  himself  in  the  mean  time ;  yet 
there  is  a  conscious  air  about  the  strain  that 
impresses  me  with  the  idea  that  my  presence 
is  understood  and  my  attention  courted.  A 
tone  of  pride  and  glee,  and,  occasionally,  of 
bantering  jocoseness,  is  discernible.  I  be- 
lieve it  is  only  rarely,  and  when  he  is  sure 
of  his  audience,  that  he  displays  his  parts  in 
this  manner.  You  are  to  look  for  him,  not 
in  tall  trees  or  deep  forests,  but  in  low,  dense 
shrubbery  about  wet  places,  where  there  are 
plenty  of  gnats  and  mosquitoes. 

The  winter-wren  is  another  marvellous 
songster,  in  speaking  of  whom  it  is  difficult 
to  avoid  superlatives.  He  is  not  so  conscious 
of  his  powers  and  so  ambitious  of  effect 
as  the  white-eyed  fly-catcher,  yet  you  will 
not  be  less  astonished  and  delighted  on  hear- 
ing him.  He  possesses  the  fluency  and  copi- 
ousness for  which  the  wrens  are  noted,  and 
besides  these  qualities,  and  what  is  rarely 
found  conjoined  with  them,  a  wild,  sweet, 
rhythmical  cadence  that  holds  you  entranced. 
I  shall  not  soon  forget  that  perfect  June  day, 
when,  loitering  in  a  low,  ancient  hemlock 
wood,  in  whose  cathedral  aisles  the  coolness 
and  freshness  seem  perennial,  the  silence 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  31 

was  suddenly  broken  by  a  strain  so  rapid 
and  gushing,  and  touched  with  such  a  wild, 
sylvan  plaintiveness,  that  I  listened  in  amaze- 
ment. And  so  shy  and  coy  was  the  little 
minstrel,  that  I  came  twice  to  the  woods  be- 
fore I  was  sure  to  whom  I  was  listening.  In 
summer  he  is  one  of  those  birds  of  the  deep 
northern  forests,  that,  like  the  speckled  Can- 
ada warbler  and  the  hermit-thrush,  only  the 
privileged  ones  hear. 

The  distribution  of  plants  in  a  given  local- 
ity is  not  more  marked  and  defined  than  that 
of  the  birds.  Show  a  botanist  a  landscape, 
and  he  will  tell  you  where  to  look  for  the 
lady's-slipper,  the  columbine,  or  the  harebell. 
On  the  same  principles  the  ornithologist  will 
direct  you  where  to  look  for  the  greenlets, 
the  wood-sparrow,  or  the  chewink.  In  ad- 
joining counties,  in  the  same  latitude,  and 
equally  inland,  but  possessing  a  different 
geological  formation  and  different  forest-tim- 
ber, you  will  observe  quite  a  different  class 
of  birds.  In  a  land  of  the  beech  and  sugar- 
maple  I  do  not  find  the  same  songsters  that 
I  know  where  thrive  the  oak,  chestnut,  and 
laurel.  In  going  from  a  district  of  the  Old 
Red  Sandstone  to  where  I  walk  upon  the 
old  Plutonic  Rock,  not  fifty  miles  distant, 


32  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

I  miss  in  the  woods  the  veery,  the  hermit- 
thrush,  the  chestnut-sided  warbler,  the  blue- 
backed  warbler,  the  green-backed  warbler, 
the  black  and  yellow  warbler,  and  many 
others,  and  find  in  their  stead  the  wood- 
thrush,  the  chewink,  the  redstart,  the  yellow- 
throat,  the  yellow-breasted  fly-catcher,  the 
white-eyed  fly-catcher,  the  quail,  and  the  tur- 
tle-dove. 

In  my  neighborhood  here  in  the  High- 
lands the  distribution  is  very  marked.  South 
of  the  village  I  invariably  find  one  species 
of  birds,  north  of  it  another.  In  only  one 
locality,  full  of  azalea  and  swamp-huckle- 
berry, I  am  always  sure  of  finding  the  hooded 
warbler.  In  a  dense  undergrowth  of  spice- 
bush,  witch-hazel,  and  alder,  I  meet  the  worm- 
eating  warbler.  In  a  remote  clearing,  cov- 
ered with  heath  and  fern,  with  here  and 
there  a  chestnut  and  an  oak,  I  go  to  hear 
in  July  the  wood-sparrow,  and  returning  by 
a  stumpy,  shallow  pond,  I  am  sure  to  find 
the  water-thrush. 

Only  one  locality  within  my  range  seems 
to  possess  attractions  for  all  comers.  Here 
one  may  study  almost  the  entire  ornithology 
of  the  State.  It  is  a  rocky  piece  of  ground, 
long  ago  cleared,  but  now  fast  relapsing 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  33 

into  the  wildness  and  freedom  of  nature,  and 
marked  by  those  half-cultivated,  half-wild 
features  which  birds  and  boys  love.  It  is 
bounded  on  two  sides  by  the  village  and 
highway,  crossed  at  various  points  by  car- 
riage-roads, and  threaded  in  all  directions  by 
paths  and  by-ways,  along  which  soldiers,  la- 
borers, and  truant  school-boys  are  passing  at 
all  hours  of  the  day.  It  is  so  far  escaping 
from  the  axe  and  the  bush-hook  as  to  have 
opened  communication  with  the  forest  and 
mountain  beyond  by  straggling  lines  of 
cedar,  laurel,  and  blackberry.  The  ground 
is  mainly  occupied  with  cedar  and  chestnut, 
with  an  undergrowth,  in  many  places,  of 
heath  and  bramble.  The  chief  feature,  how- 
ever, is  a  dense  growth  in  the  centre,  con- 
sisting of  dogwood,  water-beech,  swamp-ash, 
alder,  spice-bush,  hazel,  etc.,  with  a  network 
of  smilax  and  frost-grape.  A  little  zigzag 
stream,  the  draining  of  a  swamp  beyond, 
which  passes  through  this  tangle-wood,  ac- 
counts for  many  of  its  features  and  produc- 
tions, if  not  for  its  entire  existence.  Birds 
that  are  not  attracted  by  the  heath  or  the 
cedar  and  chestnut  are  sure  to  find  some 
excuse  for  visiting  this  miscellaneous  growth 
in  the  centre.  Most  of  the  common  birds 


34  THE  RETURN  OF    THE  BIRDS. 

literally  throng  this  idle-wild ;  and  I  have 
met  here  many  of  the  rarer  species,  such  as 
the  great-crested  fly-catcher,  the  solitary  war- 
bler, the  blue-winged  swamp-warbler,  the 
worm-eating  warbler,  the  fox-sparrow,  etc. 
The  absence  of  all  birds  of  prey,  and  the 
great  number  of  flies  and  insects,  both  the 
result  of  proximity  to  the  village,  are  con- 
siderations which  no  hawk-fearing,  peace- 
loving  minstrel  passes  over  lightly;  hence 
the  popularity  of  the  resort. 

But  the  crowning  glory  of  all  these  robins, 
fly-catchers,  and  warblers  is  the  wood-thrush. 
More  abundant  than  all  other  birds,  except 
the  robin  and  cat-bird,  he  greets  you  from 
every  rock  and  shrub.  Shy  and  reserved 
when  he  first  makes  his  appearance  in  May, 
before  the  end  of  June  he  is  tame  and  fa- 
miliar, and  sings  on  the  tree  over  your  head, 
or  on  the  rock  a  few  paces  in  advance.  A 
pair  even  built  their  nest  and  reared  their 
brood  within  ten  or  twelve  feet  of  the  piazza 
of  a  large  summer-house  in  the  vicinity. 
But  when  the  guests  commenced  to  arrive 
and  the  piazza  to  be  thronged  with  gay 
crowds,  I  noticed  something  like  dread  and 
foreboding  in  the  manner  of  the  mother- 
bird  ;  and  from  her  still,  quiet  ways,  and 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  35 

habit  of  sitting  long  and  silently  within  a 
few  feet  of  the  precious  charge,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  dear  creature  had  resolved,  if  possible, 
to  avoid  all  observation. 

If  we  take  the  quality  of  melody  as  the 
test,  the  wood-thrush,  hermit-thrush,  and  the 
veery-thrush  stand  at  the  head  of  our  list  of 
songsters. 

The  mocking-bird  undoubtedly  possesses 
the  greatest  range  of  mere  talent,  the  most 
varied  executive  ability,  and  never  fails  to 
surprise  and  delight  one  anew  at  each  hear- 
ing ;  but  being  mostly  an  imitator,  he  never 
approaches  the  serene  beauty  and  sublimity 
of  the  hermit-thrush.  The  word  that  best 
expresses  my  feelings  on  hearing  the  mock- 
ing-bird is  admiration,  though  the  first  emo- 
tion is  one  of  surprise  and  incredulity.  That 
so  many  and  such  various  notes  should  pro- 
ceed from  one  throat  is  a  marvel,  and  we 
regard  the  performance  with  feelings  akin 
to  those  we  experience  on  witnessing  the 
astounding  feats  of  the  athlete  or  gymnast, 
—  and  this,  notwithstanding  many  of  the 
notes  imitated  have  all  the  freshness  and 
sweetness  of  the  originals.  The  emotions 
excited  by  the  songs  of  these  thrushes  belong 
to  a  higher  order,  springing  as  they  do  from 


36  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

our  deepest  sense  of  the  beauty  and  harmony 
of  the  world. 

The  wood-thrush  is  worthy  of  all,  and 
more  than  all,  the  praises  he  has  received ; 
and  considering  the  number  of  his  apprecia- 
tive listeners,  it  is  not  a  little  surprising  that 
his  relative  and  equal,  the  hermit-thrush, 
should  have  received  so  little  notice.  Both 
the  great  ornithologists,  Wilson  and  Audu- 
bon,  are  lavish  in  their  praises  of  the  former, 
but  have  little  or  nothing  to  say  of  the  song 
of  the  latter.  Audubon  says  it  is  sometimes 
agreeable,  but  evidently  has  never  heard  it. 
Nuttall,  I  am  glad  to  find,  is  more  discrim- 
inating, and  does  the  bird  fuller  justice. 

It  is  quite  a  rare  bird,  of  very  shy  and 
secluded  habits,  being  found  in  the  Middle 
and  Eastern  States,  during  the  period  of 
song,  only  in  the  deepest  and  most  remote 
forests,  usually  in  damp  and  swampy  lo- 
calities. On  this  account  the  people  in 
the  Adirondac  region  call  it  the  "  Swamp 
Angel."  Its  being  so  much  of  a  recluse  ac- 
counts for  the  comparative  ignorance  that 
prevails  in  regard  to  it. 

The  cast  of  its  song  is  very  much  like 
that  of  the  wood-thnish,  and  a  good  observer 
might  easily  confound  the  two.  But  hear 


THE  RETURN   OF  THE  BIRDS.  37 

them  together  and  the  difference  is  quite 
marked:  the  song  of  the  hermit  is  in  a 
higher  key,  and  is  more  wild  and  ethereal. 
His  instrument  is  a  silver  horn,  which  he 
winds  in  the  most  solitary  places.  The 
song  of  the  wood-thrush  is  more  golden  and 
leisurely.  Its  tone  comes  near  to  that  of 
some  rare  stringed  instrument.  One  feels 
that  perhaps  the  wood-thrush  has  more  com- 
pass and  power,  if  he  would  only  let  himself 
out,  but  on  the  whole  he  comes  a  little  short 
of  the  pure,  serene,  hymn-like  strain  of  the 
hermit. 

Yet  those  who  have  heard  only  the  wood- 
thrush  may  well  place  him  first  on  the  list. 
He  is  truly  a  royal  minstrel,  and  considering 
his  liberal  distribution  throughout  our  At- 
lantic seaboard,  perhaps  contributes  more 
than  any  other  bird  to  our  sylvan  melody. 
One  may  object  that  he  spends  a  little  too 
much  time  in  tuning  his  instrument,  yet  his 
careless  and  uncertain  touches  reveal  its  rare 
compass  and  power. 

He  is  the  only  songster  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, excepting  the  canary,  that  displays 
different  degrees  of  proficiency  in  the  exer- 
cise of  his  musical  gifts.  Not  long  since, 
while  walking  one  Sunday  in  the  edge  of  an 


38  THE   RETURN   OF  THE  BIRDS. 

orchard  adjoining  a  wood,  I  heard  one  that 
so  obviously  and  unmistakably  surpassed  all 
his  rivals,  that  my  companion,  though  slow 
to  notice  such  things,  remarked  it  wonder- 
ingly;  and  with  one  accord  we  paused  to 
listen  to  so  rare  a  performer.  It  was  not 
different  in  quality  so  much  as  in  quantity. 
Such  a  flood  of  it!  Such  copiousness! 
Such  long,  trilling,  accelerating  preludes ! 
Such  sudden,  ecstatic  overtures  would  have 
intoxicated  the  dullest  ear.  He  was  really 
without  a  compeer  — a  master-artist.  Twice 
afterward  I  was  conscious  of  having  heard 
the  same  bird. 

The  wood-thrush  is  the  handsomest  species 
of  this  family.  In  grace  and  elegance  of 
manner  he  has  no  equal.  Such  a  gentle, 
high-bred  air,  and  such  inimitable  ease  and 
composure  in  his  flight  and  movement !  He 
is  a  poet  in  very  word  and  deed.  His  car- 
riage is  music  to  the  eye.  His  performance 
of  the  commonest  act,  as  catching  a  beetle, 
or  picking  a  worm  from  the  mud,  pleases 
like  a  stroke  of  wit  or  eloquence.  Was  he 
a  prince  in  the  olden  time,  and  do  the  regal 
grace  and  mien  still  adhere  to  him  in  his 
transformation  ?  What  a  finely  proportioned 
form !  How  plain,  yet  rich  his  color,  —  the 


THE  RETURN  OF   THE  BIRDS.  39 

bright  russet  of  his  back,  the  clear  white  of 
his  breast,  with  the  distinct  heart-shaped 
spots !  It  may  be  objected  to  Robin  that 
he  is  noisy  and  demonstrative;  he  hurries 
away  or  rises  to  a  branch  with  an  angry 
note,  and  flirts  his  wings  in  ill-bred  sus- 
picion. The  mavis,  or  red-thrush,  sneaks 
and  skulks  like  a  culprit,  hiding  in  the 
densest  alders;  the  cat-bird  is  a  coquette 
and  a  flirt,  as  well  as  a  sort  of  female  Paul 
Pry;  and  the  chewink  shows  his  inhospi- 
tality  by  espying  your  movements  like  a 
Japanese.  The  wood-thrush  has  none  of 
these  under-bred  traits.  He  regards  me  un- 
suspiciously, or  avoids  me  with  a  noble  re- 
serve, —  or,  if  I  am  quiet  and  incurious, 
graciously  hops  toward  me,  as  if  to  pay  his 
respects,  or  to  make  my  acquaintance.  I 
have  passed  under  his  nest  within  a  few  feet 
of  his  mate  and  brood,  when  he  sat  near  by 
on  a  branch  eying  me  sharply,  but  without 
opening  his  beak ;  but  the  moment  I  raised 
my  hand  toward  his  defenceless  household 
his  anger  and  indignation  were  beautiful  to 
behold. 

What  a  noble  pride  he  has  !  Late  one  Oc- 
tober, after  his  mates  and  companions  had 
long  since  gone  South,  I  noticed  one  for  sev- 


40  THE  RETURN    OF   THE  BIRDS. 

eral  successive  days  in  the  dense  part  of  this 
next-door  wood,  flitting  noiselessly  about, 
very  grave  and  silent,  as  if  doing  penance 
for  some  violation  of  the  code  of  honor.  By 
many  gentle,  indirect  approaches,  I  per- 
ceived that  part  of  his  tail-feathers  were  un- 
developed. The  sylvan  prince  could  not 
think  of  returning  to  court  in  this  plight, 
and  so,  amid  the  falling  leaves  and  cold 
rains  of  autumn,  was  patiently  biding  his 
time. 

The  soft,  mellow  flute  of  the  veery  fills  a 
place  in  the  chorus  of  the  woods  that  the 
song  of  the  vesper-sparrow  fills  in  the  chorus 
of  the  fields.  It  has  the  nightingale's  habit 
of  singing  in  the  twilight,  as  indeed  have 
all  our  thrushes.  Walk  out  toward  the 
forest  in  the  warm  twilight  of  a  June  day, 
and  when  fifty  rods  distant  you  will  hear 
their  soft,  reverberating  notes,  rising  from  a 
dozen  different  throats. 

It  is  one  of  the  simplest  strains  to  be 
heard,  —  as  simple  as  the  curve  in  form,  de- 
lighting from  the  pure  element  of  harmony 
and  beauty  it  contains,  and  not  from  any 
novel  or  fantastic  modulation  of  it,  —  thus 
contrasting  strongly  with  such  rollicking, 
hilarious  songsters  as  the  bobolink,  in  whom 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  41 

we  are  chiefly  pleased  with  the  tintinnabula- 
tion, the  verbal  and  labial  excellence,  and 
the  evident  conceit  and  delight  of  the  per- 
former. 

I  hardly  know  whether  I  am  more  pleased 
or  annoyed  with  the  cat-bird.  Perhaps  she 
is  a  little  too  common,  and  her  part  in  the 
general  chorus  a  little  too  conspicuous.  If 
you  are  listening  for  the  note  of  another 
bird,  she  is  sure  to  be  prompted  to  the  most 
loud  and  protracted  singing,  drowning  all 
other  sounds ;  if  you  sit  quietly  down  to  ob- 
serve a  favorite  or  study  a  new-comer,  her 
curiosity  knows  no  bounds,  and  you  are 
scanned  and  ridiculed  from  every  point  of 
observation.  Yet  I  would  not  miss  her ;  I 
would  only  subordinate  her  a  little,  make 
her  less  conspicuous. 

She  is  the  parodist  of  the  woods,  and 
there  is  ever  a  mischievous,  bantering,  half- 
ironical  undertone  in  her  lay,  as  if  she  were 
conscious  of  mimicking  and  disconcerting 
some  envied  songster.  Ambitious  of  song, 
practising  and  rehearsing  in  private,  she  yet 
seems  the  least  sincere  and  genuine  of  the 
sylvan  minstrels,  as  if  she  had  taken  up 
music  only  to  be  in  the  fashion,  or  not  to  be 
outdone  by  the  robins  and  thrushes.  In 


42  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

other  words,  she  seems  to  sing  from  some 
outward  motive,  and  not  from  inward  joy- 
ousness.  She  is  a  good  versifier,  but  not  a 
great  poet.  Vigorous,  rapid,  copious,  not 
without  fine  touches,  but  destitute  of  any 
high,  serene  melody,  her  performance,  like 
that  of  Thoreau's  squirrel,  always  implies  a 
spectator. 

There  is  a  certain  air  and  polish  about 
her  strain,  however,  like  that  in  the  viva- 
cious conversation  of  a  well-bred  lady  of  the 
world,  that  commands  respect.  Her  ma- 
ternal instinct,  also,  is  very  strong,  and  that 
simple  structure  of  dead  twigs  and  dry  grass 
is  the  centre  of  much  anxious  solicitude. 
Not  long  since,  while  strolling  through  the 
woods,  my  attention  was  attracted  to  a  small 
densely  grown  swamp,  hedged  in  with  eglan- 
tine, brambles,  and  the  everlasting  smilax, 
from  which  proceeded  loud  cries  of  distress 
and  alarm,  indicating  that  some  terrible 
calamity  was  threatening  my  sombre-colored 
minstrel.  On  effecting  an  entrance,  which, 
however,  was  not  accomplished  till  I  had 
doffed  coat  and  hat,  so  as  to  diminish  the 
surface  exposed  to  the  thorns  and  brambles, 
and  looking  around  me  from  a  square  yard 
of  terra  firma,  I  found  myself  the  spectator 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  43 

of  a  loathsome,  yet  fascinating  scene.  Three 
or  four  yards  from  me  was  the  nest,  beneath 
which,  in  long  festoons,  rested  a  huge  black 
snake  ;  a  bird,  two  thirds  grown,  was  slowly 
disappearing  between  his  expanded  jaws. 
As  he  seemed  unconscious  of  my  presence,  I 
quietly  observed  the  proceedings.  By  slow 
degrees  he  compassed  the  bird  about  with 
his  elastic  mouth ;  his  head  flattened,  his 
neck  writhed  and  swelled,  and  two  or  three 
undulatory  movements  of  his  glistening  body 
finished  the  work.  Then,  he  cautiously  raised 
himself  up,  his  tongue  flaming  from  his 
mouth  the  while,  curved  over  the  nest,  and, 
with  wavy,  subtle  motions,  explored  the  in- 
terior. I  can  conceive  of  nothing  more  over- 
poweringly  terrible  to  an  unsuspecting  fam- 
ily of  birds  than  the  sudden  appearance 
above  their  domicile  of  the  head  and  neck 
of  this  arch-enemy.  It  is  enough  to  pet- 
rify the  blood  in  their  veins.  Not  finding 
the  object  of  his  search,  he  came  stream- 
ing down  from  the  nest  to  a  lower  limb, 
and  commenced  extending  his  researches 
in  other  directions,  sliding  stealthily  through 
the  branches,  bent  on  capturing  one  of  the 
parent  birds.  That  a  legless,  wingless  crea- 
ture should  move  with  such  ease  and  rapid- 


44  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

ity  where  only  birds  and  squirrels  are  con- 
sidered at  home,  lifting  himself  up,  letting 
himself  down,  running  out  on  the  yielding 
boughs,  and  traversing  with  marvellous  ce- 
lerity the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  the 
thicket,  was  truly  surprising.  One  thinks 
of  the  great  myth,  of  the  Tempter  and  the 
"cause  of  all  our  woe,"  and  wonders  if  the 
Arch  One  is  not  now  playing  off  some  of 
his  pranks  before  him.  Whether  we  call  it 
snake  or  devil  matters  little.  I  could  but 
admire  his  terrible  beauty,  however ;  his 
black,  shining  folds,  his  easy,  gliding  move- 
ment, head  erect,  eyes  glistening,  tongue 
playing  like  subtle  flame,  and  the  invisible 
means  of  his  almost  winged  locomotion. 

The  parent  birds,  in  the  mean  while,  kept 
up  the  most  agonizing  cry, —  at  times  flut- 
tering furiously  about  their  pursuer,  and 
actually  laying  hold  of  his  tail  with  their 
beaks  and  claws.  On  being  thus  attacked, 
the  snake  would  suddenly  double  upon  him- 
self and  follow  his  own  body  back,  thus 
executing  a  strategic  movement  that  at  first 
seemed  almost  to  paralyze  his  victim  and 
place  her  within  his  grasp.  Not  quite,  how- 
ever. Before  his  jaws  could  close  upon  the 
coveted  prize  the  bird  would  tear  herself 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  45 

away,  and,  apparently  faint  and  sobbing, 
retire  to  a  higher  branch.  His  reputed 
powers  of  fascination  availed  him  little, 
though  it  is  possible  that  a  frailer  and  less 
combative  bird  might  have  been  held  by  the 
fatal  spell.  Presently,  as  he  came  gliding 
down  the  slender  body  of  a  leaning  alder, 
his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  slight  move- 
ment of  my  arm  ;  eying  me  an  instant,  with 
that  crouching,  utter,  motionless  gaze  which 
I  believe  only  snakes  and  devils  can  assume, 
he  turned  quickly,  —  a  feat  which  necessi- 
tated something  like  crawling  over  his  own 
body,  —  and  glided  off  through  the  branches, 
evidently  recognizing  in  me  a  representative 
of  the  ancient  parties  he  once  so  cunningly 
ruined.  A  few  moments  after,  as  he  lay 
carelessly  disposed  in  the  top  of  a  rank 
alder,  trying  to  look  as  much  like  a  crooked 
branch  as  his  supple,  shining  form  would 
admit,  the  old  vengeance  overtook  him.  I 
exercised  my  prerogative,  and  a  well-directed 
missile,  in  the  shape  of  a  stone,  brought  him 
looping  and  writhing  to  the  ground.  After 
I  had  completed  his  downfall  and  quiet  had 
been  partially  restored,  a  half-fledged  mem- 
ber of  the  bereaved  household  came  out 
from  his  hiding-place,  and,  jumping  upon  a 


46  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

decayed  branch,  chirped  vigorously,  no  doubt 
in  celebration  of  the  victory. 

Till  the  middle  of  July  there  is  a  gen- 
eral equilibrium ;  the  tide  stands  poised  ;  the 
holiday-spirit  is  unabated.  But  as  the  har- 
vest ripens  beneath  the  long,  hot  days,  the 
melody  gradually  ceases.  The  young  are 
out  of  the  nest  and  must  be  cared  for,  and 
the  moulting  season  is  at  hand.  After  the 
cricket  has  commenced  to  drone  his  monoto- 
nous refrain  beneath  your  window,  you  will 
not,  till  another  season,  hear  the  wood-thrush 
in  all  his  matchless  eloquence.  The  bobo- 
link has  become  careworn  and  fretful,  and 
blurts  out  snatches  of  his  song  between  his 
scolding  and  upbraiding,  as  you  approach 
the  vicinity  of  his  nest,  oscillating  between 
anxiety  for  his  brood  and  solicitude  for  his 
musical  reputation.  Some  of  the  sparrows 
still  sing,  and  occasionally  across  the  hot 
fields,  from  a  tall  tree  in  the  edge  of  the 
forest,  comes  the  rich  note  of  the  scarlet 
tanager.  This  tropical-colored  bird  loves 
the  hottest  weather,  and  I  hear  him  even  in 
dog-days. 

The  remainder  of  the  summer  is  the  car- 
nival of  the  swallows  and  fly-catchers.  Flies 
and  insects,  to  any  amount,  are  to  be  had 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  47 

for  the  catching;  and  the  opportunity  is 
well  improved.  See  that  sombre,  ashen- 
colored  pewee  on  yonder  branch.  A  true 
sportsman,  he,  who  never  takes  his  game  at 
rest,  but  always  on  the  wing.  You  vagrant 
fly,  you  purblind  moth,  beware  how  you 
come  within  his  range !  Observe  his  atti- 
tude, the  curious  movement  of  his  head,  his 
"  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling,  glancing  from 
heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven." 

His  sight  is  microscopic  and  his  aim  sure. 
Quick  as  thought  he  has  seized  his  victim 
and  is  back  to  his  perch.  There  is  no  strife, 
no  pursuit,  —  one  fell  swoop  and  the  matter 
is  ended.  That  little  sparrow,  as  you  will  ob- 
serve, is  less  skilled.  It  is  the  Socialis,  and 
he  finds  his  subsistence  properly  in  various 
seeds  and  the  larvae  of  insects,  though  he 
occasionally  has  higher  aspirations,  and 
seeks  to  emulate  the  pewee,  commencing 
and  ending  his  career  as  a  fly-catcher  by  an 
awkward  chase  after  a  beetle  or  "miller." 
He  is  hunting  around  in  the  grass  now,  I 
suspect,  with  the  desire  to  indulge  this  fa- 
vorite whim.  There!  —  the  opportunity  is 
afforded  him.  Away  goes  a  little  cream- 
colored  meadow-moth  in  the  most  tortuous 
course  he  is  capable  of,  and  away  goes  /So- 


48  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

cicdis  in  pursuit.  The  contest  is  quite  com- 
ical, though  I  dare  say  it  is  serious  enough 
to  the  moth.  The  chase  continues  for  a  few 
yards,  when  there  is  a  sudden  rushing  to 
cover  in  the  grass,  —  then  a  taking  to  wing 
again,  when  the  search  has  become  too  close, 
and  the  moth  has  recovered  his  wind.  So- 
cialis  chirps  angrily,  and  is  determined  not 
to  be  beaten.  Keeping,  with  the  slightest 
effort,  upon  the  heels  of  the  fugitive,  he  is 
ever  on  the  point  of  halting  to  snap  him  up, 
but  never  quite  does  it,  —  and  so,  between 
disappointment  and  expectation,  is  soon  dis- 
gusted, and  returns  to  pursue  his  more  legit- 
imate means  of  subsistence. 

In  striking  contrast  to  this  serio  -  comic 
strife  of  the  sparrow  and  the  moth  is  the 
pigeon-hawk's  pursuit  of  the  sparrow  or  the 
goldfinch.  It  is  a  race  of  surprising  speed 
and  agility.  It  is  a  test  of  wing  and  wind. 
Every  muscle  is  taxed,  and  every  nerve 
strained.  Such  cries  of  terror  and  conster- 
nation on  the  part  of  the  bird,  tacking  to 
the  right  and  left,  and  making  the  most  des- 
perate efforts  to  escape,  and  such  silent  de- 
termination on  the  part  of  the  hawk,  press- 
ing the  bird  so  closely,  flashing  and  turning 
and  timing  his  movements  with  those  of  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  49 

pursued  as  accurately  and  as  inexorably  as 
if  the  two  constituted  one  body,  excite  feel- 
ings of  the  deepest  concern.  You  mount 
the  fence  or  rush  out  of  your  way  to  see  the 
issue.  The  only  salvation  for  the  bird  is  to 
adopt  the  tactics  of  the  moth,  seeking  in- 
stantly the  cover  of  some  tree,  bush,  or 
hedge,  where  its  smaller  size  enables  it  to 
move  about  more  rapidly.  These  pirates  are 
aware  of  this,  and  therefore  prefer  to  take 
their  prey  by  one  fell  swoop.  You  may  see 
one  of  them  prowling  through  an  orchard, 
with  the  yellow-birds  hovering  about  him, 
crying,  Pi-ty,  pi-ty^  in  the  most  desponding 
tone ;  yet  he  seems  not  to  regard  them, 
knowing,  as  do  they,  that  in  the  close 
branches  they  are  as  safe  as  if  in  a  wall  of 
adamant. 

August  is  the  month  of  the  high-sailing 
hawks.  The  hen-hawk  is  the  most  notice- 
able. He  likes  the  haze  and  calm  of  these 
long,  warm  days.  He  is  a  bird  of  leisure, 
and  seems  always  at  his  ease.  How  beauti- 
ful and  majestic  are  his  movements !  So 
self-poised  and  easy,  such  an  entire  absence 
of  haste,  such  a  magnificent  amplitude  of 
circles  and  spirals,  such  a  haughty,  imperial 
grace,  and,  occasionally,  such  daring  aerial 
evolutions ! 


50  THE  RETURN   OF  THE  BIRDS. 

With  slow,  leisurely  movement,  rarely  vi- 
brating his  pinions,  he  mounts  and  mounts 
in  an  ascending  spiral  till  he  appears  a  mere 
speck  against  the  summer  sky  ;  then,  if  the 
mood  seizes  him,  with  wings  half  closed  like 
a  bent  bow,  he  will  cleave  the  air  almost 
perpendicularly,  as  if  intent  on  dashing  him- 
self to  pieces  against  the  earth ;  but,  on 
nearing  the  ground,  he  suddenly  mounts 
again  on  broad,  expanded  wing,  as  if  re- 
bounding upon  the  air,  and  sails  leisurely 
away.  It  is  the  sublimest  feat  of  the  season. 
One  holds  his  breath  till  he  sees  him  rise 
again. 

If  inclined  to  a  more  gradual  and  less 
precipitous  descent,  he  fixes  his  eye  on  some 
distant  point  in  the  earth  beneath  him,  and 
thither  bends  his  course.  He  is  still  almost 
meteoric  in  his  speed  and  boldness.  You 
see  his  path  down  the  heavens,  straight  as  a 
line ;  if  near,  you  hear  the  rush  of  his 
wings ;  his  shadow  hurtles  across  the  fields, 
and  in  an  instant  you  see  him  quietly  perched 
upon  some  low  tree  or  decayed  stub  in  a 
swamp  or  meadow,  with  reminiscences  of 
frogs  and  mice  stirring  in  his  maw. 

When  the  south  wind  blows,  it  is  a  study 
to  see  three  or  four  of  these  air-kings  at  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS.  51 

head  of  the  valley  far  up  toward  the  moun- 
tain, balancing  and  oscillating  upon  the 
strong  current :  now  quite  stationary,  except 
a  slight  tremulous  motion  like  the  poise  of  a 
rope-dancer,  then  rising  and  falling  in  long 
undulations,  and  seeming  to  resign  them- 
selves passively  to  the  wind ;  or,  again,  sail- 
ing high  and  level  far  above  the  mountain's 
peak,  no  bluster  and  haste,  but,  as  stated, 
occasionally  a  terrible  earnestness  and  speed. 
Fire  at  one  as  he  sails  overhead,  and,  unless 
wounded  badly,  he  will  not  change  his  course 
or  gait. 

His  flight  is  a  perfect  picture  of  repose  in 
motion.  It  strikes  the  eye  as  more  surpris- 
ing than  the  flight  of  the  pigeon  and  swallow 
even,  in  that  the  effort  put  forth  is  so  uni- 
form and  delicate  as  to  escape  observation, 
giving  to  the  movement  an  air  of  buoyancy 
and  perpetuity,  the  effluence  of  power  rather 
than  the  conscious  application  of  it. 

The  calmness  and  dignity  of  this  hawk 
when  attacked  by  crows  or  the  king-bird  are 
well  worthy  of  him.  He  seldom  deigns  to 
notice  his  noisy  and  furious  antagonists,  but 
deliberately  wheels  about  in  that  aerial  spi- 
ral, and  mounts  and  mounts  till  his  pursuers 
grow  dizzy  and  return  to  earth  again.  It  is 


52  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

quite  original,  this  mode  of  getting  rid  of  an 
unworthy  opponent,  rising  to  heights  where 
the  braggart  is  dazed  and  bewildered,  and 
loses  his  reckoning !  I  am  not  sure  but  it 
is  worthy  of  imitation. 

But  summer  wanes  and  autumn  ap- 
proaches. The  songsters  of  the  seed-time 
are  silent  at  the  reaping  of  the  harvest. 
Other  minstrels  take  up  the  strain.  It  is 
the  heyday  of  insect  life.  The  day  is  cano- 
pied with  musical  sound.  All  the  songs  of 
the  spring  and  summer  appear  to  be  float- 
ing, softened  and  refined,  in  the  upper  air. 
The  birds  in  a  new,  but  less  holiday  suit, 
turn  their  faces  southward.  The  swallows 
flock  and  go ;  the  bobolinks  flock  and  go ; 
silently  and  unobserved,  the  thrushes  go. 
Autumn  arrives,  bringing  finches,  warblers, 
sparrows,  and  kinglets  from  the  North.  Si- 
lently the  procession  passes.  Yonder  hawk, 
sailing  peacefully  away  till  he  is  lost  in  the 
horizon,  is  a  symbol  of  the  closing  season 
and  the  departing  birds. 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

MOST  people  receive  with  incredulity  a 
statement  of  the  number  of  birds  that  an- 
nually visit  our  climate.  Very  few  even  are 
aware  of  half  the  number  that  spend  the 
summer  in  their  own  immediate  vicinity. 
We  little  suspect,  when  we  walk  in  the 
woods,  whose  privacy  we  are  intruding  upon, 
—  what  rare  and  elegant  visitants  from 
Mexico,  from  Central  and  South  America, 
and  from  the  islands  of  the  sea  are  holding 
their  reunions  in  the  branches  over  our  heads, 
or  pursuing  their  pleasure  on  the  ground 
before  us. 

I  recall  the  altogether  admirable  and  shin- 
ing family  which  Thoreau  dreamed  he  saw 
in  the  upper  chambers  of  Spaulding's  woods, 
which  Spaulding  did  not  know  lived  there, 
and  which  were  not  put  out  when  Spaulding, 
whistling,  drove  his  team  through  their 
lower  halls.  They  did  not  go  into  society  in 
the  village ;  they  were  quite  well ;  they  had 


54  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

sons  and  daughters ;  they  neither  wove  nor 
spun ;  there  was  a  sound  as  of  suppressed 
hilarity. 

I  take  it  for  granted  that  the  forester  was 
only  saying  a  pretty  thing  of  the  birds, 
though  I  have  observed  that  it  does  some- 
times annoy  them  when  Spaulding's  cart 
rumbles  through  their  house.  Generally, 
however,  they  are  as  unconscious  of  Spauld- 
ing  as  Spaulding  is  of  them. 

Walking  the  other  day  in  an  old  hemlock 
wood,  I  counted  over  forty  varieties  of  these 
summer  visitants,  many  of  them  common  to 
other  woods  in  the  vicinity,  but  quite  a  num- 
ber peculiar  to  these  ancient  solitudes,  and 
not  a  few  that  are  rare  in  any  locality.  It 
is  quite  unusual  to  find  so  large  a  number 
abiding  in  one  forest,  —  and  that  not  a 
large  one,  —  most  of  them  nesting  and  spend- 
ing the  summer  there.  Many  of  those  I 
observed  commonly  pass  this  season  much 
farther  north.  But  the  geographical  distri- 
bution of  birds  is  rather  a  climatical  one. 
The  same  temperature,  though  under  differ- 
ent parallels,  usually  attracts  the  same  birds ; 
difference  in  altitude  being  equivalent  to  the 
difference  in  latitude.  A  given  height  above 
the  sea  level  under  the  parallel  of  thirty  de- 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  55 

grees  may  have  the  same  climate  as  places 
under  that  of  thirty-five  degrees,  and  similar 
flora  and  fauna.  At  the  head-waters  of  the 
Delaware,  where  I  write,  the  latitude  is  that 
of  Boston,  but  the  region  has  a  much  greater 
elevation,  and  hence  a  climate  that  com- 
pares better  with  the  northern  part  of  the 
State  and  of  New  England.  Half  a  day's 
drive  to  the  southeast  brings  me  down  into 
quite  a  different  temperature,  with  an  older 
geological  formation,  different  forest  timber, 
and  different  birds,  —  even  with  different 
mammals.  Neither  the  little  gray  rabbit 
nor  the  little  gray  fox  is  found  in  my  locality, 
but  the  great  northern  hare  and  the  red 
fox.  In  the  last  century  a  colony  of  beavers 
dwelt  here,  though  the  oldest  inhabitant  can- 
not now  point  to  even  the  traditional  site  of 
their  dams.  The  ancient  hemlocks,  whither 
I  propose  to  take  the  reader,  are  rich  in  many 
things  beside  birds.  Indeed,  their  wealth  in 
this  respect  is  owing  mainly,  no  doubt,  to 
their  rank  vegetable  growths,  their  fruitful 
swamps,  and  their  dark,  sheltered  retreats. 

Their  history  is  of  an  heroic  cast.  Rav- 
ished and  torn  by  the  tanner  in  his  thirst  for 
bark,  preyed  upon  by  the  lumberman,  as- 
saulted and  beaten  back  by  the  settler,  still 


56  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

their  spirit  has  never  been  broken,  their 
energies  never  paralyzed.  Not  many  years 
ago  a  public  highway  passed  through  them, 
but  it  was  at  no  time  a  tolerable  road ;  trees 
fell  across  it,  mud  and  limbs  choked  it  up, 
till  finally  travellers  took  the  hint  and  went 
around ;  and  now,  walking  along  its  deserted 
course,  I  see  only  the  footprints  of  coons, 
foxes,  and  squirrels. 

Nature  loves  such  woods,  and  places  her 
own  seal  upon  them.  Here  she  shows  me 
what  can  be  done  with  ferns  and  mosses  and 
lichens.  The  soil  is  marrowy  and  full  of  in- 
numerable forests.  Standing  in  these  fra- 
grant aisles,  I  feel  the  strength  of  the  veg- 
etable kingdom,  and  am  awed  by  the  deep 
and  inscrutable  processes  of  life  going  on  so 
silently  about  me. 

No  hostile  forms  with  axe  or  spud  now 
visit  these  solitudes.  The  cows  have  half- 
hidden  ways  through  them,  and  know  where 
the  best  browsing  is  to  be  had.  In  spring 
the  farmer  repairs  to  their  bordering  of 
maples  to  make  sugar  ;  in  July  and  August 
women  and  boys  from  all  the  country  about 
penetrate  the  old  Bark-peelings  for  raspber- 
ries and  blackberries ;  and  I  know  a  youth 
who  wonderingly  follows  their  languid  stream 
casting  for  trout. 


IN   THE  HEMLOCKS.  57 

In  like  spirit,  alert  and  buoyant,  on  this 
bright  June  morning  go  I  also  to  reap  my 
harvest,  —  pursuing  a  sweet  more  delecta- 
ble than  sugar,  fruit  more  savory  than  ber- 
ries, and  game  for  another  palate  than  that 
tickled  by  trout. 

June,  of  all  the  months,  the  student  of 
ornithology  can  least  afford  to  lose.  Most 
birds  are  nesting  then,  and  in  full  song  and 
plumage.  And  what  is  a  bird  without  its 
song  ?  Do  we  not  wait  for  the  stranger  to 
speak  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  I  do  not  know 
a  bird  till  I  have  heard  its  voice ;  then  I 
come  nearer  it  at  once,  and  it  possesses  a 
human  interest  to  me.  I  have  met  the  gray- 
cheeked  thrush  (Turdus  alicice)  in  the 
woods,  and  held  him  in  my  hand,  still  I  do 
not  know  him.  The  silence  of  the  cedar 
bird  throws  a  mystery  about  him  which  nei- 
ther his  good  looks  nor  his  petty  larcenies  in 
cherry  time  can  dispel.  A  bird's  song  con- 
tains a  clue  to  its  life,  and  establishes  a 
sympathy,  an  understanding,  between  itself 
and  the  listener. 

I  descend  a  steep  hill,  and  approach  the 
hemlocks  through  a  large  sugar-bush.  When 
twenty  rods  distant,  I  hear  all  along  the  line 
of  the  forest  the  incessant  warble  of  the  red- 


58  IN   THE  HEMLOCKS. 

eyed  fly-catcher,  cheerful  and  happy  as  the 
merry  whistle  of  a  school-boy.  He  is  one 
of  our  most  common  and  widely  distributed 
birds.  Approach  any  forest  at  any  hour  of 
the  day,  in  any  kind  of  weather,  from  May 
to  August,  in  any  of  the  Middle  or  Eastern 
districts,  and  the  chances  are  that  the  first 
note  you  hear  will  be  his.  Rain  or  shine, 
before  noon  or  after,  in  the  deep  forest  or 
in  the  village  grove,  —  when  it  is  too  hot 
for  the  thrushes  or  too  cold  and  windy  for 
the  warblers,  —  it  is  never  out  of  time  or 
place  for  this  little  minstrel  to  indulge  his 
cheerful  strain.  In  the  deep  wilds  of  the 
Adirondac,  where  few  birds  are  seen  and 
fewer  heard,  his  note  was  almost  constantly 
in  my  ear.  Always  busy,  making  it  a  point 
never  to  suspend  for  one  moment  his  occupa- 
tion to  indulge  his  musical  taste,  his  lay  is 
that  of  industry  and  contentment.  There 
is  nothing  plaintive  or  especially  musical  in 
his  performance,  but  the  sentiment  expressed 
is  eminently  that  of  cheerfulness.  Indeed, 
the  songs  of  most  birds  have  some  human 
significance,  which,  I  think,  is  the  source  of 
the  delight  we  take  in  them.  The  song  of 
the  bobolink  to  me  expresses  hilarity;  the 
song-sparrow's,  faith ;  the  bluebird's,  love ; 


7.2V  THE  HEMLOCKS.  59 

the  cat -bird's,  pride;  the  white -eyed  fly- 
catcher's, self -consciousness ;  that  of  the  her- 
mit-thrush, spiritual  serenity :  while  there  is 
something  military  in  the  call  of  the  robin. 

The  vireosylvia  is  classed  among  the  fly- 
catchers by  some  writers,  but  is  much  more 
of  a  worm-eater,  and  has  few  of  the  traits  or 
habits  of  the  Muscicapa  or  the  true  Sylvia. 
He  resembles  somewhat  the  warbling  vireo, 
and  the  two  birds  are  often  confounded  by 
careless  observers.  Both  warble  in  the  same 
cheerful  strain,  but  the  latter  more  continu- 
ously and  rapidly.  The  red-eye  is  a  larger, 
slimmer  bird,  with  a  faint  bluish  crown,  and 
a  light  line  over  the  eye.  His  movements 
are  peculiar.  You  may  see  him  hopping 
among  the  limbs,  exploring  the  under  side 
of  the  leaves,  peering  to  the  right  and  left, 
now  flitting  a  few  feet,  now  hopping  as 
many,  and  warbling  incessantly,  occasionally 
in  a  subdued  tone,  which  sounds  from  a  very 
indefinite  distance.  When  he  has  found  a 
worm  to  his  liking,  he  turns  lengthwise  of 
the  limb,  and  bruises  its  head  with  his  beak 
before  devouring  it. 

As  I  enter  the  woods  the  slate-colored 
snow-bird  starts  up  before  me  and  chirps 
sharply.  His  protest  when  thus  disturbed 


60  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

is  almost  metallic  in  its  sharpness.  He 
breeds  here,  and  is  not  esteemed  a  snow-bird 
at  all,  as  he  disappears  at  the  near  approach 
of  winter,  and  returns  again  in  spring,  like 
the  song  -  sparrow,  and  is  not  in  any  way 
associated  with  the  cold  and  the  snow.  So 
different  are  the  habits  of  birds  in  different 
localities.  Even  the  crow  does  not  winter 
here,  and  is  seldom  seen  after  December  or 
before  March. 

The  snow-bird,  or  "  black  chipping-bird," 
as  it  is  known  among  the  farmers,  is  the 
finest  architect  of  any  of  the  ground-builders 
known  to  me.  The  site  of  its  nest  is  usually 
some  low  bank  by  the  roadside,  near  a  wood. 
In  a  slight  excavation,  with  a  partially  con- 
cealed entrance,  the  exquisite  structure  is 
placed.  Horse  and  cow  hair  are  plentifully 
used,  imparting  to  the  interior  of  the  nest 
great  symmetry  and  firmness  as  well  as  soft- 
ness. 

Passing  down  through  the  maple  arches, 
barely  pausing  to  observe  the  antics  of  a  trio 
of  squirrels,  —  two  gray  ones  and  a  black 
one,  —  I  cross  an  ancient  brush  fence  and 
am  fairly  within  the  old  hemlocks,  and  in 
one  of  the  most  primitive,  undisturbed  nooks. 
In  the  deep  moss  I  tread  as  with  muffled 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  61 

feet,  and  the  pupils  of  my  eyes  dilate  in  the 
dim,  almost  religious  light.  The  irreverent 
red  squirrels,  however,  run  and  snicker  at 
my  approach,  or  mock  the  solitude  with  their 
ridiculous  chattering  and  frisking. 

This  nook  is  the  chosen  haunt  of  the  win- 
ter wren.  This  is  the  only  place  and  these 
the  only  woods  in  which  I  find  him  in  this 
vicinity.  His  voice  fills  these  dim  aisles,  as 
if  aided  by  some  marvellous  sounding-board. 
Indeed,  his  song  is  very  strong  for  so  small 
a  bird,  and  unites  in  a  remarkable  degree 
brilliancy  and  plaintiveness.  I  think  of  a 
tremulous,  vibrating  tongue  of  silver.  You 
may  know  it  is  the  song  of  a  wren,  from  its 
gushing,  lyrical  character :  but  you  must 
needs  look  sharp  to  see  the  little  minstrel, 
especially  while  in  the  act  of  singing.  He 
is  nearly  the  color  of  the  ground  and  the 
leaves ;  he  never  ascends  the  tall  trees,  but 
keeps  low,  flitting  from  stump  to  stump  and 
from  root  to  root,  dodging  in  and  out  of  his 
hiding-places,  and  watching  all  intruders 
with  a  suspicious  eye.  He  has  a  very  pert, 
almost  comical  look.  His  tail  stands  more 
than  perpendicular:  it  points  straight  to- 
ward his  head.  He  is  the  least  ostentatious 
singer  I  know  of.  He  does  not  strike  an 


62  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

attitude,  and  lift  up  his  head  in  preparation, 
and,  as  it  were,  clear  his  throat ;  but  sits 
there  on  a  log  and  pours  out  his  music,  look- 
ing straight  before  him,  or  even  down  at 
the  ground.  As  a  songster,  he  has  but  few 
superiors.  I  do  not  hear  him  after  the  first 
week  in  July. 

While  sitting  on  this  soft-cushioned  log, 
tasting  the  pungent  acidulous  wood-sorrel, 
the  blossoms  of  which,  large  and  pink-veined, 
rise  everywhere  above  the  moss,  a  rufous- 
colored  bird  flies  quickly  past,  and,  alight- 
ing on  a  low  limb  a  few  rods  off,  salutes 
me  with  "  Whew !  Whew  !  "  or  "  Whoit ! 
Whoit!  "  almost  as  you  would  whistle  for 
your  dog.  I  see  by  his  impulsive,  graceful 
movements,  and  his  dimly  speckled  breast, 
that  it  is  a  thrush.  Presently  he  utters  a  few 
soft,  mellow,  flute-like  notes,  one  of  the  most 
simple  expressions  of  melody  to  be  heard, 
and  scuds  away,  and  I  see  it  is  the  veery,  or 
Wilson's  thrush.  He  is  the  least  of  the 
thrushes  in  size,  being  about  that  of  the 
common  bluebird,  and  he  may  be  distin- 
guished from  his  relatives  by  the  dimness  of 
the  spots  upon  his  breast.  The  wood-thrush 
has  very  clear,  distinct  oval  spots  on  a  white 
ground ;  in  the  hermit,  the  spots  run  more 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  63 

into  lines,  on  a  ground  of  a  faint  bluish- 
white  ;  in  the  veery,  the  marks  are  almost 
obsolete,  and  a  few  rods  off  his  breast  pre- 
sents only  a  dull  yellowish  appearance.  To 
get  a  good  view  of  him  you  have  only  to  sit 
down  in  his  haunts,  as  in  such  cases  he  seems 
equally  anxious  to  get  a  good  view  of  you. 

From  those  tall  hemlocks  proceeds  a  very 
fine  insect-like  warble,  and  occasionally  I 
see  a  spray  tremble,  or  catch  the  flit  of  a 
wing.  I  watch  and  watch,  till  my  head 
grows  dizzy  and  my  neck  is  in  danger  of 
permanent  displacement,  and  still  do  not 
get  a  good  view.  Presently  the  bird  darts, 
or,  as  it  seems,  falls  down  a  few  feet  in  pur- 
suit of  a  fly  or  a  moth,  and  I  see  the  whole 
of  it,  but  in  the  dim  light  am  undecided. 
It  is  for  such  emergencies  that  I  have 
brought  my  gun.  A  bird  in  the  hand  is 
worth  half  a  dozen  in  the  bush,  even  for 
ornithological  purposes;  and  no  sure  and 
rapid  progress  can  be  made  in  the  study 
without  taking  life,  without  procuring  spe- 
cimens. This  bird  is  a  warbler,  plainly 
enough,  from  his  habits  and  manner ;  but 
what  kind  of  warbler?  Look  on  him  and 
name  him :  a  deep  orange  or  flame-colored 
throat  and  breast ;  the  same  color  showing 


64  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

also  in  a  line  over  the  eye  and  in  his  crown ; 
back  variegated  black  and  white.  The 
female  is  less  marked  and  brilliant.  The 
orange-throated  warbler  would  seem  to  be 
his  right  name,  his  characteristic  cognomen ; 
but  no,  he  is  doomed  to  wear  the  name 
of  some  discoverer,  perhaps  the  first  who 
robbed  his  nest  or  rifled  him  of  his  mate,  — 
Blackburn ;  hence,  Blackburnian  warbler. 
The  burn  seems  appropriate  enough,  for  in 
these  dark  evergreens  his  throat  and  breast 
show  like  flame.  Pie  has  a  very  fine  warble, 
suggesting  that  of  the  redstart,  but  not 
especially  musical.  I  find  him  in  no  other 
woods  in  this  vicinity. 

I  am  attracted  by  another  warble  in  the 
same  locality,  and  experience  a  like  difficulty 
in  getting  a  good  view  of  the  author  of  it. 
It  is  quite  a  noticeable  strain,  sharp  and 
sibilant,  and  sounds  well  amid  the  old  trees. 
In  the  upland  woods  of  beech  and  maple  it 
is  a  more  familiar  sound  than  in  these  soli- 
tudes. On  taking  the  bird  in  hand,  one 
cannot  help  exclaiming,  "  How  beautiful !  " 
So  tiny  and  elegant,  the  smallest  of  the 
warblers ;  a  delicate  blue  back,  with  a  slight 
bronze-colored  triangular  spot  between  the 
shoulders ;  upper  mandible  black ;  lower 


IN   THE  HEMLOCKS.  65 

mandible  yellow  as  gold  ;  throat  yellow, 
becoming  a  dark  bronze  on  the  breast.  Blue 
yellow-back  he  is  called,  though  the  yellow 
is  much  nearer  a  bronze.  He  is  remarkably 
delicate  and  beautiful,  —  the  handsomest  as 
he  is  the  smallest  of  the  warblers  known  to 
me.  It  is  never  without  surprise  that  I  find 
amid  these  rugged,  savage  aspects  of  nature 
creatures  so  fairy  and  delicate.  But  such 
is  the  law.  Go  to  the  sea,  or  climb  the 
mountain,  and  with  the  ruggedest  and  the 
savagest  you  will  find  likewise  the  fairest 
and  the  most  delicate.  The  greatness  and 
the  minuteness  of  nature  pass  all  under- 
standing. 

Ever  since  I  entered  the  woods,  even  while 
listening  to  the  lesser  songsters,  or  contem- 
plating the  silent  forms  about  me,  a  strain 
has  reached  my  ears  from  out  the  depths  of 
the  forest  that  to  me  is  the  finest  sound  in 
nature,  —  the  song  of  the  hermit-thrush.  I 
often  hear  him  thus  a  long  way  off,  some- 
times over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  when 
only  the  stronger  and  more  perfect  parts  of 
his  music  reach  me;  and  through  the  gen- 
eral chorus  of  wrens  and  warblers  I  detect 
this  sound  rising  pure  and  serene,  as  if  a 
spirit  from  some  remote  height  were  slowly 


66  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

chanting  a  divine  accompaniment.  This 
song  appeals  to  the  sentiment  of  the  beau- 
tiful in  me,  and  suggests  a  serene  religious 
beatitude  as  no  other  sound  in  nature  does. 
It  is  perhaps  more  of  an  evening  than  a 
morning  hymn,  though  I  hear  it  at  all  hours 
of  the  day.  It  is  very  simple,  and  I  can 
hardly  tell  the  secret  of  its  charm.  "  O 
spheral,  spheral !  "  he  seems  to  say ;  "  O 
holy,  holy!  O  clear  away,  clear  away!  O 
clear  up,  clear  up !  "  interspersed  with  the 
finest  trills  and  the  most  delicate  preludes. 
It  is  not  a  proud,  gorgeous  strain,  like  the 
tanager's  or  the  grossbeak's ;  suggests  no 
passion  or  emotion,  —  nothing  personal,  — 
but  seems  to  be  the  voice  of  that  calm,  sweet 
solemnity  one  attains  to  in  his  best  moments. 
It  realizes  a  peace  and  a  deep,  solemn  joy 
that  only  the  finest  soids  may  know.  A  few 
nights  ago  I  ascended  a  mountain  to  see  the 
world  by  moonlight ;  and  when  near  the 
summit  the  hermit  commenced  his  evening 
hymn  a  few  rods  from  me.  Listening  to 
this  strain  on  the  lone  mountain,  with  the 
full  moon  just  rounded  from  the  horizon, 
the  pomp  of  your  cities  and  the  pride  of 
your  civilization  seemed  trivial  and  cheap. 
I  have  seldom  known  two  of  these  birds 


IN   TEE  HEMLOCKS.  67 

to  be  singing  at  the  same  time  in  the  same 
locality,  rivalling  each  other,  like  the  wood- 
thrush  or  the  veery.  Shooting  one  from  a 
tree,  I  have  observed  another  take  up  the 
strain  from  almost  the  identical  perch,  in 
less  than  ten  minutes  afterward.  Later  in 
the  day,  when  I  had  penetrated  the  heart  of 
the  old  "Bark-peeling,"  I  came  suddenly 
upon  one  singing  from  a  low  stump,  and 
for  a  wonder  he  did  not  seem  alarmed,  but 
lifted  up  his  divine  voice  as  if  his  privacy 
was  undisturbed.  I  open  his  beak,  and  find 
the  inside  yellow  as  gold.  I  was  prepared 
to  find  it  inlaid  with  pearls  and  diamonds, 
or  to  see  an  angel  issue  from  it. 

He  is  not  much  in  the  books.  Indeed,  I 
am  acquainted  with  scarcely  any  writer  on 
ornithology  whose  head  is  not  muddled  on 
the  subject  of  our  three  prevailing  song- 
thrushes,  confounding  either  their  figures  or 
their  songs.  A  writer  in  the  "  Atlantic  " l 
gravely  tells  us  the  wood-thrush  is  sometimes 
called  the  hermit,  and  then,  after  describing 
the  song  of  the  hermit  with  great  beauty 
and  correctness,  coolly  ascribes  it  to  the 
veery !  The  new  Cyclopaedia,  fresh  from 
the  study  of  Audubon,  says  the  hermit's 
1  For  December,  1858. 


68  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

song  consists  of  a  single  plaintive  note,  and 
that  the  veery's  resembles  that  of  the  wood- 
thrush  !  These  observations  are  as  wide  of 
the  mark  as  that  of  the  author  of  "  Out- 
door Papers,"  whose  usually  accurate  pen 
slips  badly  when  he  tells  us  that  the  trill  of 
the  hair-bird  is  produced  by  the  bird  flut- 
tering its  wings  upon  its  sides !  The  her- 
mit-thrush may  be  easily  identified  by  his 
color ;  his  back  being  a  clear  olive-brown, 
becoming  rufous  on  his  rump  and  tail.  A 
quill  from  his  wing  placed  beside  one  from 
his  tail  on  a  dark  ground  presents  quite  a 
marked  contrast. 

I  walk  along  the  old  road,  and  note  the 
tracks  in  the  thin  layer  of  mud.  When  do 
these  creatures  travel  here?  I  have  never 
yet  chanced  to  meet  one.  Here  a  partridge 
has  set  its  foot ;  there,  a  woodcock ;  here,  a 
squirrel  or  mink ;  there,  a  skunk ;  there,  a 
fox.  What  a  clear,  nervous  track  Reynard 
makes  !  how  easy  to  distinguish  it  from  that 
of  a  little  dog,  —  it  is  so  sharply  cut  and  de- 
fined !  A  dog's  track  is  coarse  and  clumsy 
beside  it.  There  is  as  much  wildness  in 
the  track  of  an  animal  as  in  its  voice.  Is 
a  deer's  track  like  a  sheep's,  or  a  goat's? 
What  winged-footed  fleetness  and  agility 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  69 

may  be  inferred  from  the  sharp>  braided 
track  of  the  gray  squirrel  upon  the  new 
snow !  Ah  !  in  nature  is  the  best  discipline. 
How  wood-life  sharpens  the  senses,  giving 
a  new  power  to  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  nose ! 
And  are  not  the  rarest  and  most  exquisite 
songsters  wood-birds  ? 

Everywhere  in  these  solitudes  I  am  greeted 
with  the  pensive,  almost  pathetic  note  of  the 
wood-pewee.  The  pewees  are  the  true  fly- 
catchers, and  are  easily  identified.  They 
are  very  characteristic  birds,  have  strong 
family  traits,  and  pugnacious  dispositions. 
They  are  the  least  attractive  or  elegant  birds 
of  our  fields  or  forest.  Sharp-shouldered, 
big-headed,  short-legged,  of  no  particular 
color,  of  little  elegance  in  flight  or  move- 
ment, with  a  disagreeable  flirt  of  the  tail, 
always  quarrelling  with  their  neighbors  and 
with  one  another,  no  birds  are  so  little  cal- 
culated to  excite  pleasurable  emotions  in  the 
beholder,  or  to  become  objects  of  human  in- 
terest and  affection.  The  king-bird  is  the 
best  dressed  member  of  the  family,  but  he 
is  a  braggart ;  and,  though  always  snubbing 
his  neighbors,  is  an  arrant  coward,  and  shows 
the  white  feather  at  the  slightest  display  of 
pluck  in  his  antagonist.  I  have  seen  him 


70  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

turn  tail  to  a  swallow,  and  have  known  the 
little  pewee  in  question  to  whip  him  beauti- 
fully. From  the  great  crested  to  the  little 
green  fly-catcher,  their  ways  and  general 
habits  are  the  same.  Slow  in  flying  from 
point  to  point,  they  yet  have  a  wonderful 
quickness,  and  snap  up  the  fleetest  insects 
with  little  apparent  effort.  There  is  a  con- 
stant play  of  quick,  nervous  movements 
underneath  their  outer  show  of  calmness 
and  stolidity.  They  do  not  scour  the  limbs 
and  trees  like  the  warblers,  but,  perched 
upon  the  middle  branches,  wait  like  true 
hunters,  for  the  game  to  come  along.  There 
is  often  a  very  audible  snap  of  the  beak  as 
they  seize  their  prey. 

The  wood-pewee,  the  prevailing  species  in 
this  locality,  arrests  your  attention  by  his 
sweet,  pathetic  cry.  There  is  room  for  it 
also  in  the  deep  woods,  as  well  as  for  the 
more  prolonged  and  elevated  strains. 

Its  relative,  the  phoebe-bird,  builds  an  ex- 
quisite nest  of  moss  on  the  side  of  some 
shelving  cliff  or  overhanging  rock.  The 
other  day,  passing  by  a  ledge  near  the  top 
of  a  mountain  in  a  singularly  desolate  lo- 
cality, my  eye  rested  upon  one  of  these 
structures,  looking  precisely  as  if  it  grew 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  71 

there,  so  in  keeping  was  it  with  the  mossy 
character  of  the  rock,  and  I  have  had  a 
growing  affection  for  the  bird  ever  since. 
The  rock  seemed  to  love  the  nest  and  to 
claim  it  as  its  own.  I  said,  What  a  lesson 
in  architecture  is  here !  Here  is  a  house 
that  was  built,  but  with  such  loving  care  and 
such  beautiful  adaptation  of  the  means  to 
the  end,  that  it  looks  like  a  product  of  na- 
ture. The  same  wise  economy  is  noticeable 
in  the  nests  of  all  birds.  No  bird  would 
paint  its  house  white  or  red,  or  add  aught 
for  show. 

At  one  point  in  the  grayest,  most  shaggy 
part  of  the  woods,  I  come  suddenly  upon  a 
brood  of  screech-owls,  full  grown,  sitting 
together  upon  a  dry,  moss-draped  limb,  but 
a  few  feet  from  the  ground.  I  pause  within 
four  or  five  yards  of  them  and  am  looking 
about  me,  when  my  eye  alights  upon  these 
gray,  motionless  figures.  They  sit  perfectly 
upright,  some  with  their  backs  and  some  with 
their  breasts  toward  me,  but  every  head 
turned  squarely  in  my  direction.  Their  eyes 
are  closed  to  a  mere  black  line;  through 
this  crack  they  are  watching  me,  evidently 
thinking  themselves  unobserved.  The  spec- 
tacle is  weird  and  grotesque,  and  suggests 


72  IN  THE   HEMLOCKS. 

something  impish  and  uncanny.  It  is  a 
new  effect,  the  night  side  of  the  woods  by 
daylight.  After  observing  them  a  moment 
I  take  a  single  step  toward  them,  when,  quick 
as  thought,  their  eyes  fly  wide  open,  their 
attitude  is  changed,  they  bend,  some  this 
way,  some  that,  and,  instinct  with  life  and 
motion,  stare  wildly  around  them.  Another 
step,  and  they  all  take  flight  but  one,  which 
stoops  low  on  the  branch,  and  with  the  look 
of  a  frightened  cat  regards  me  for  a  few 
seconds  over  its  shoulder.  They  fly  swiftly 
and  softly,  and  disperse  through  the  trees. 
I  shoot  one,  which  is  of  a  tawny  red  tint, 
like  that  figured  by  Wilson,  who  mistook  a 
young  bird  for  an  old  one.  The  old  birds 
are  a  beautiful  ashen  gray  mottled  with 
black.  In  the  present  instance,  they  were 
sitting  on  the  branch  with  the  young. 

Coming  to  a  drier  and  less  mossy  place  in 
the  woods,  I  am  amused  with  the  golden- 
crowned  thrush,  —  which,  however,  is  no 
thrush  at  all,  but  a  warbler,  like  the  night- 
ingale. He  walks  on  the  ground  ahead  of 
me  with  such  an  easy,  gliding  motion,  and 
with  such  an  unconscious,  preoccupied  air, 
jerking  his  head  like  a  hen  or  a  partridge, 
now  hurrying,  now  slackening  his  pace,  that 


IN   THE  HEMLOCKS.  73 

I  pause  to  observe  him.  If  I  sit  down,  he 
pauses  to  observe  me,  and  extends  his  pretty 
ramblings  on  all  sides,  apparently  very  much 
engrossed  with  his  own  affairs,  but  never 
losing  sight  of  me.  But  few  of  the  birds 
are  walkers,  most  being  hoppers,  like  the 
robin. 

Satisfied  that  I  have  no  hostile  intentions, 
the  pretty  pedestrian  mounts  a  limb  a  few 
feet  from  the  ground,  and  gives  me  the 
benefit  of  one  of  his  musical  performances, 
a  sort  of  accelerating  chant.  Commencing 
in  a  very  low  key,  which  makes  him  seem  at 
a  very  uncertain  distance,  he  grows  louder 
and  louder,  till  his  body  quakes  and  his 
chant  runs  into  a  shriek,  ringing  in  my  ear 
with  a  peculiar  sharpness.  This  lay  may 
be  represented  thus:  "Teacher,  teacher, 
TEACHER,  TEACHER,  TEA  CHER  !  "  — 
the  accent  on  the  first  syllable  and  each 
word  uttered  with  increased  force  and  shrill- 
ness. No  writer  with  whom  I  am  acquainted 
gives  him  credit  for  more  musical  ability 
than  is  displayed  in  this  strain.  Yet  in  this 
the  half  is  not  told.  He  has  a  far  rarer 
song,  which  he  reserves  for  some  nymph 
whom  he  meets  in  the  air.  Mounting  by 
easy  flights  to  the  top  of  the  tallest  tree, 


74  IN  THE    HEMLOCKS. 

he  launches  into  the  air  with  a  sort  of  sus- 
pended, hovering  flight,  like  certain  of  the 
finches,  and  bursts  into  a  perfect  ecstasy  of 
song,  —  clear,  ringing,  copious,  rivalling  the 
goldfinch's  in  vivacity,  and  the  linnet's  in 
melody.  This  strain  is  one  of  the  rarest 
bits  of  bird-melody  to  be  heard,  and  is 
oftenest  indulged  in  late  in  the  afternoon 
or  after  sundown.  Over  the  woods,  hid 
from  view,  the  ecstatic  singer  warbles  his 
finest  strain.  In  this  song  you  instantly 
detect  his  relationship  to  the  water-wag- 
tail, —  erroneously  called  water-thrush,  — 
whose  song  is  likewise  a  sudden  burst,  full 
and  ringing,  and  with  a  tone  of  youthful 
joyousness  in  it,  as  if  the  bird  had  just  had 
some  unexpected  good  fortune.  For  nearly 
two  years  this  strain  of  the  pretty  walker 
was  little  more  than  a  disembodied  voice  to 
me,  and  I  was  puzzled  by  it  as  Thoreau  by 
his  mysterious  night-warbler,  which,  by  the 
way,  I  suspect  was  no  new  bird  at  all,  but 
one  he  was  otherwise  familiar  with.  The 
little  bird  himself  seems  disposed  to  keep 
the  matter  a  secret,  and  improves  every  op- 
portunity to  repeat  before  you  his  shrill,  ac- 
celerating lay,  as  if  this  were  quite  enough 
and  all  he  laid  claim  to.  Still,  I  trust  I 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  75 

am  betraying  no  confidence  in  making  the 
matter  public  here.  I  think  this  is  pre- 
eminently his  love-song,  as  I  hear  it  oftenest 
about  the  mating  season.  I  have  caught 
half-suppressed  bursts  of  it  from  two  males 
chasing  each  other  with  fearful  speed  through 
the  forest. 

Turning  to  the  left  from  the  old  road,  I 
wander  over  soft  logs  and  gray  yielding 
debris,  across  the  little  trout  brook,  until  I 
emerge  in  the  overgrown  "  Bark-peeling,"  — 
pausing  now  and  then  on  the  way  to  admire 
a  small,  solitary  white  flower  which  rises 
above  the  moss,  with  radical,  heart-shaped 
leaves,  and  a  blossom  precisely  like  the  liver- 
wort except  in  color,  but  which  is  not  put 
down  in  my  botany,  —  or  to  observe  the 
ferns,  of  which  I  count  six  varieties,  some 
gigantic  ones  nearly  shoulder-high. 

At  the  foot  of  a  rough,  scraggy  yellow 
birch,  on  a  bank  of  club-moss,  so  richly  in- 
laid with  partridge-berry  and  curious  shining 
leaves  —  with  here  and  there  in  the  bordering 
a  spire  of  the  false  wintergreen  strung  with 
faint  pink  flowers  and  exhaling  the  breath 
of  a  May  orchard  —  that  it  looks  too  costly 
a  couch  for  such  -an  idler,  I  recline  to  note 
what  transpires.  The  sun  is  just  past  the 


76  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

meridian,  and  the  afternoon  chorus  is  not 
yet  in  full  tune.  Most  birds  sing  with  the 
greatest  spirit  and  vivacity  in  the  forenoon, 
though  there  are  occasional  bursts  later  in 
the  day,  in  which  nearly  all  voices  join; 
while  it  is  not  till  the  twilight  that  the  full 
power  and  solemnity  of  the  thrush's  hymn  is 
felt. 

My  attention  is  soon  arrested  by  a  pair  of 
humming-birds,  the  ruby-throated,  disporting 
themselves  in  a  low  bush  a  few  yards  from 
me.  The  female  takes  shelter  amid  the 
branches,  and  squeaks  exultingly,  as  the 
male,  circling  above,  dives  down  as  if  to 
dislodge  her.  Seeing  me,  he  drops  like  a 
feather  on  a  slender  twig,  and  in  a  moment 
both  are  gone.  Then,  as  if  by  a  preconcerted 
signal,  the  throats  are  all  atune.  I  lie  on 
my  back  with  eyes  half  closed,  and  analyze 
the  chorus  of  warblers,  thrushes,  finches, 
and  fly-catchers ;  while,  soaring  above  all,  a 
little  withdrawn  and  alone,  rises  the  divine 
soprano  of  the  hermit.  That  richly  mod- 
ulated warble  proceeding  from  the  top  of 
yonder  birch,  and  which  unpractised  ears 
would  mistake  for  the  voice  of  the  scarlet 
tanager,  comes  from  that  rare  visitant,  the 
rose-breasted  grossbeak.  It  is  a  strong, 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  77 

vivacious  strain,  a  bright  noonday  song,  full 
of  health  and  assurance,  indicating  fine  tal- 
ents in  the  performer,  but  not  genius.  As  I 
come  up  under  the  tree  he  casts  his  eye  down 
at  me,  but  continues  his  song.  This  bird  is 
said  to  be  quite  common  in  the  Northwest, 
but  he  is  rare  in  the  Eastern  districts.  His 
beak  is  disproportionately  large  and  heavy, 
like  a  huge  nose,  which  slightly  mars  his 
good  looks.;  but  Nature  has  made  it  up  to 
him  in  a  blush  rose  upon  his  breast,  and  the 
most  delicate  of  pink  linings  to  the  under 
side  of  his  wings.  His  back  is  variegated 
black  and  white,  and  when  flying  low  the 
white  shows  conspicuously.  If  he  passed 
over  your  head,  you  would  note  the  delicate 
flush  under  his  wings. 

That  bit  of  bright  scarlet  on  yonder  dead 
hemlock,  glowing  like  a  live  coal  against  the 
dark  background,  seeming  almost  too  bril- 
liant for  the  severe  northern  climate,  is  his 
relative,  the  scarlet  tanager.  I  occasionally 
meet  him  in  the  deep  hemlocks,  and  know  no 
stronger  contrast  in  nature.  I  almost  fear  he 
will  kindle  the  dry  limb  on  which  he  alights. 
He  is  quite  a  solitary  bird,  and  in  this  section 
seems  to  prefer  the  high,  remote  woods,  even 
going  quite  to  the  mountain's  top.  Indeed, 


78  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

the  event  of  my  last  visit  to  the  mountain 
was  meeting  one  of  these  brilliant  creatures 
near  the  summit,  in  full  song.  The  breeze 
carried  the  notes  far  and  wide.  He  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  elevation,  and  I  imagined  his 
song  had  more  scope  and  freedom  than 
usual.  When  he  had  flown  far  down  the 
mountain-side,  the  breeze  still  brought  me 
his  finest  notes.  In  plumage  he  is  the  most 
brilliant  bird  we  have.  The  bluebird  is  not 
entirely  blue ;  nor  will  the  indigo-bird  bear 
a  close  inspection,  nor  the  goldfinch,  nor  the 
summer  redbird.  But  the  tanager  loses 
nothing  by  a  near  view ;  the  deep  scarlet  of 
his  body  and  the  black  of  his  wings  and 
tail  are  quite  perfect.  This  is  his  holiday 
suit ;  in  the  fall  he  becomes  a  dull  yellowish- 
green, —  the  color  of  the  female  the  whole 
season. 

One  of  the  leading  songsters  in  this  choir 
of  the  old  Bark-peeling  is  the  purple  finch 
or  linnet.  He  sits  somewhat  apart,  usually 
on  a  dead  hemlock,  and  warbles  most  exqui- 
sitely. He  is  one  of  our  finest  songsters,  and 
stands  at  the  head  of  the  finches,  as  the  her- 
mit at  the  head  of  the  thrushes.  His  song 
approaches  an  ecstasy,  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  winter-wren's,  is  the  most  rapid 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  79 

and  copious  strain  to  be  heard  in  these 
woods.  It  is  quite  destitute  of  the  trills  and 
the  liquid,  silvery,  bubbling  notes  that  char- 
acterize the  wren's ;  but  there  runs  through 
it  a  round,  richly  modulated  whistle,  very 
sweet  and  very  pleasing.  The  call  of  the 
robin  is  brought  in  at  a  certain  point  with 
marked  effect,  and,  throughout,  the  variety 
is  so  great  and  the  strain  so  rapid  that  the 
impression  is  as  of  two  or  three  birds  singing 
at  the  same  time.  He  is  not  common  here, 
and  I  only  find  him  in  these  or  similar 
woods.  His  color  is  peculiar,  and  looks  as 
if  it  might  have  been  imparted  by  dipping  a 
brown  bird  in  diluted  pokeberry  juice.  Two 
or  three  more  dippings  would  have  made  the 
purple  complete.  The  female  is  the  color 
of  the  song -sparrow,  a  little  larger,  with 
heavier  beak,  and  tail  much  more  forked. 

In  a  little  opening  quite  free  from  brush 
and  trees,  I  step  down  to  bathe  my  hands  in 
the  brook,  when  a  small,  light  slate-colored 
bird  flutters  out  of  the  bank,  not  three  feet 
from  my  head,  as  I  stoop  down,  and  as  if  se- 
verely lamed  or  injured,  flutters  through  the 
grass  and  into  the  nearest  bush.  As  I  do  not 
follow,  but  remain  near  the  nest,  she  chips 
sharply,  which  brings  the  male,  and  I  see  it 


80  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

is  the  speckled  Canada  warbler.  I  find  no 
authority  in  the  books  for  this  bird  to  build 
upon  the  ground,  yet  here  is  the  nest,  made 
chiefly  of  dry  grass,  set  in  a  slight  excava- 
tion in  the  bank,  not  two  feet  from  the  wa- 
ter, and  looking  a  little  perilous  to  anything 
but  ducklings  or  sandpipers.  There  are  two 
young  birds  and  one  little  speckled  egg,  just 
pipped.  But  how  is  this  ?  What  mystery 
is  here  ?  One  nestling  is  much  larger  than 
the  other,  monopolizes  most  of  the  nest,  and 
lifts  its  open  mouth  far  above  that  of  its 
companion,  though  obviously  both  are  of  the 
same  age,  not  more  than  a  day  old.  Ah !  I 
see ;  the  old  trick  of  the  cow-bunting,  with  a 
stinging  human  significance.  Taking  the 
interloper  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  I  deliber- 
ately drop  it  into  the  water,  but  not  without 
a  pang,  as  I  see  its  naked  form,  convulsed 
with  chills,  float  down  stream.  Cruel  ?  So 
is  Nature  cruel.  I  take  one  life  to  save 
two.  In  less  than  two  days  this  pot-bellied 
intruder  would  have  caused  the  death  of  the 
two  rightful  occupants  of  the  nest ;  so  I  step 
in  and  turn  things  into  their  proper  channel 
again. 

It  is  a  singular  freak  of  Nature,  this  in- 
stinct which  prompts  one  bird  to  lay  its  eggs 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  81 

in  the  nests  of  others,  and  thus  shirk  the  re- 
sponsibility of  rearing  its  own  young.  The 
cow-buntings  always  resort  to  this  cunning 
trick ;  and  when  one  reflects  upon  their 
numbers,  it  is  evident  that  these  little  trage- 
dies are  quite  frequent.  In  Europe  the  par- 
allel case  is  that  of  the  cuckoo,  and  occasion- 
ally our  own  cuckoo  imposes  upon  a  robin 
or  a  thrush  in  the  same  manner.  The  cow- 
bunting  seems  to  have  no  conscience  about 
the  matter,  and,  so  far  as  I  have  observed, 
invariably  selects  the  nest  of  a  bird  smaller 
than  itself.  Its  egg  is  usually  the  first  to 
hatch;  its  young  overreaches  all  the  rest 
when  food  is  brought;  it  grows  with  great 
rapidity,  spreads  and  fills  the  nest,  and  the 
starved  and  crowded  occupants  soon  perish, 
when  the  parent  bird  removes  their  dead 
bodies,  giving  its  whole  energy  and  care  to 
the  foster-child. 

The  warblers  and  smaller  fly-catchers  are 
generally  the  sufferers,  though  I  sometimes 
see  the  slate-colored  snow-bird  unconsciously 
duped  in  like  manner ;  and  the  other  day,  in 
a  tall  tree  in  the  woods,  I  discovered  the 
black-throated  green-backed  warbler  devot- 
ing itself  to  this  dusky,  overgrown  found- 
ling. An  old  farmer  to  whom  I  pointed  out 


82  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

the  fact  was  much  surprised  that  such  things 
should  happen  in  his  woods  without  his 
knowledge. 

These  birds  may  be  seen  prowling  through 
all  parts  of  the  woods  at  this  season,  watch- 
ing for  an  opportunity  to  steal  their  egg 
into  some  nest.  One  day,  while  sitting  on 
a  log  I  saw  one  moving  by  short  flights 
through  the  trees  and  gradually  nearing  the 
ground.  Its  movements  were  hurried  and 
stealthy.  About  fifty  yards  from  me  it  dis- 
appeared behind  some  low  brush  and  had 
evidently  alighted  upon  the  ground. 

After  waiting  a  few  moments  I  cautiously 
walked  in  the  direction.  When  about  half 
way  I  accidentally  made  a  slight  noise,  when 
the  bird  flew  up,  and  seeing  me,  hurried  off 
out  of  the  woods.  Arrived  at  the  place,  I 
found  a  simple  nest  of  dry  grass  and  leaves 
partially  concealed  under  a  prostrate  branch. 
I  took  it  to  be  the  nest  of  a  sparrow.  There 
were  three  eggs  in  the  nest  and  one  lying 
about  a  foot  below  it,  as  if  it  had  been  rolled 
out,  as  of  course  it  had.  It  suggested  the 
thought  that  perhaps  when  the  cow-bird 
finds  the  full  complement  of  eggs  in  a  nest, 
it  throws  out  one  and  deposits  its  own  in- 
stead. I  revisited  the  nest  a  few  days  after- 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  83 

ward  and  found  an  egg  again  cast  out,  but 
none  had  been  put  in  its  place.  The  nest 
had  been  abandoned  by  its  owner  and  the 
eggs  were  stale. 

In  all  cases  where  I  have  found  this  egg, 
I  have  observed  both  male  and  female  of  the 
cow-bird  lingering  near,  the  former  uttering 
his  peculiar  liquid,  glassy  note  from  the  tops 
of  the  trees. 

In  July,  the  young  which  have  been 
reared  in  the  same  neighborhood,  and  which 
are  now  of  a  dull  fawn  color,  begin  to  collect 
in  small  flocks,  which  grow  to  be  quite  large 
in  autumn. 

The  speckled  Canada  is  a  very  superior 
warbler,  having  a  lively,  animated  strain, 
reminding  you  of  certain  parts  of  the  ca- 
nary's, though  quite  broken  and  incom- 
plete ;  the  bird,  the  while,  hopping  amid  the 
branches  with  increased  liveliness,  and  in- 
dulging in  fine  sibilant  chirps,  too  happy  to 
keep  silent. 

His  manners  are  quite  marked.  He  has 
a  habit  of  courtesying  when  he  discovers 
you,  which  is  very  pretty.  In  form  he  is  an 
elegant  bird,  somewhat  slender,  his  back  of 
a  bluish  lead-color,  becoming  nearly  black 
on  his  crown :  the  under  part  of  his  body, 


84  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

from  his  throat  down,  is  of  a  light,  delicate 
yellow,  with  a  belt  of  black  dots  across  his 
breast.  He  has  a  fine  eye,  surrounded  by  a 
light-yellow  ring. 

The  parent  birds  are  much  disturbed  by 
my  presence,  and  keep  up  a  loud  emphatic 
chirping,  which  attracts  the  attention  of  their 
sympathetic  neighbors,  and  one  after  another 
they  come  to  see  what  has  happened.  The 
chestnut-sided  and  the  Blackburnian  come 
in  company.  The  black  and  yellow  warbler 
pauses  a  moment  and  hastens  away ;  the 
Maryland  yellow  -  throat  peeps  shyly  from 
the  lower  bushes  and  utters  his  "  Tip  !  fip !  " 
in  sympathy ;  the  wood-pewee  comes  straight 
to  the  tree  overhead,  and  the  red-eyed  vireo 
lingers  and  lingers,  eying  me  with  a  curious, 
innocent  look,  evidently  much  puzzled.  But 
all  disappear  again,  one  by  one,  apparently 
without  a  word  of  condolence  or  encourage- 
ment to  the  distressed  pair.  I  have  often 
noticed  among  birds  this  show  of  sympathy, 
—  if  indeed  it  be  sympathy,  and  not  merely 
curiosity,  or  desire  to  be  forewarned  of  the 
approach  of  a  common  danger. 

An  hour  afterward  I  approach  the  place, 
find  all  still,  and  the  mother  bird  upon  the 
nest.  As  I  draw  near  she  seems  to  sit  closer, 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  85 

her  eyes  growing  large  with  an  inexpressibly 
wild,  beautiful  look.  She  keeps  her  place 
till  I  ain  within  two  paces  of  her,  when  she 
flutters  away  as  at  first.  In  the  brief  in- 
terval the  remaining  egg  has  hatched,  and 
the  two  little  nestlings  lift  their  heads  with- 
out being  jostled  or  overreached  by  any 
strange  bedfellow.  A  week  afterward  and 
they  were  flown  away,  —  so  brief  is  the  in- 
fancy of  birds.  And  the  wonder  is  that  they 
escape,  even  for  this  short  time,  the  skunks 
and  minks  and  muskrats  that  abound  here, 
and  that  have  a  decided  partiality  for  such 
tidbits. 

I  pass  on  through  the  old  Bark-peeling, 
now  threading  an  obscure  cow-path  or  an 
overgrown  wood-road ;  now  clambering  over 
soft  and  decayed  logs,  or  forcing  my  way 
through  a  network  of  briers  and  hazels; 
now  entering  a  perfect  bower  of  wild-cherry, 
beech,  and  soft-maple  ;  now  emerging  into  a 
little  grassy  lane,  golden  with  buttercups  or 
white  with  daisies,  or  wading  waist-deep  in 
the  red  raspberry-bushes. 

Whir  !  whir  !  whir !  and  a  brood  of  half- 
grown  grouse  start  up  like  an  explosion,  a 
few  paces  from  me,  and,  scattering,  disappear 
in  the  bushes  on  all  sides.  Let  me  sit  down 


86  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

here  behind  the  screen  of  ferns  and  briers, 
and  hear  this  wild-hen  of  the  woods  call  to- 
gether her  brood.  At  what  an  early  age  the 
grouse,  or  partridge  as  it  is  usually  called 
in  the  Northern  States,  flies !  Nature  seems 
to  concentrate  her  energies  on  the  wing, 
making  the  safety  of  the  bird  a  point  to 
be  looked  after  first;  and  while  the  body 
is  covered  with  down,  and  no  signs  of  feath- 
ers are  visible,  the  wing-quills  sprout  and 
unfold,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  the 
young  make  fair  headway  in  flying. 

The  same  rapid  development  of  wing  may 
be  observed  in  chickens  and  turkeys,  but 
not  in  water-fowls,  nor  in  birds  that  are 
safely  housed  in  the  nest  till  full-fledged. 
The  other  day,  by  a  brook,  I  came  suddenly 
upon  a  young  sandpiper,  a  most  beautiful 
creature,  enveloped  in  a  soft  gray  down, 
swift  and  nimble  and  apparently  a  week  or 
two  old,  but  with  no  signs  of  plumage  either 
of  body  or  wing.  And  it  needed  none,  for 
it  escaped  me  by  taking  to  the  water  as 
readily  as  if  it  had  flown  with  wings. 

Hark !  there  arises  over  there  in  the  brush 
a  soft,  persuasive  cooing,  a  sound  so  subtle 
and  wild  and  unobtrusive  that  it  requires 
the  most  alert  and  watchful  ear  to  hear  it. 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  87 

How  gentle  and  solicitous  and  full  of  yearn- 
ing love  !  It  is  the  voice  of  the  mother  hen. 
Presently  a  faint,  timid  "  Yeap !  "  which 
almost  eludes  the  ear,  is  heard  in  various 
directions,  —  the  young  responding.  As  no 
danger  seems  near,  the  cooing  of  the  parent 
bird  is  soon  a  very  audible  clucking  call, 
and  the  young  move  cautiously  in  the  direc- 
tion. Let  me  step  never  so  carefully  from 
my  hiding-place,  and  all  sounds  instantly 
cease,  and  I  search  in  vain  for  either  parent 
or  young. 

The  grouse  is  one  of  our  most  native  and 
characteristic  birds.  The  woods  seem  good 
to  be  in  where  I  find  him.  He  gives  a 
habitable  air  to  the  forest,  and  one  feels  as 
if  the  rightful  occupant  was  really  at  home. 
The  woods  where  I  do  not  find  him  seem  to 
want  something,  as  if  suffering  from  some 
neglect  of  Nature.  And  then  he  is  such 
a  splendid  success,  so  hardy  and  vigorous. 
I  think  he  enjoys  the  cold  and  the  snow. 
His  wings  seem  to  rustle  with  more  fervency 
in  midwinter.  If  the  snow  falls  very  fast, 
and  promises  a  heavy  storm,  he  will  com- 
placently sit  down  and  allow  himself  to  be 
snowed  under.  Approaching  him  at  such 
times,  he  suddenly  bursts  out  of  the  snow 


88  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

at  your  feet,  scattering  the  flakes  in  all  di- 
rections, and  goes  humming  away  through 
the  woods  like  a  bomb-shell,  a  picture  of 
native  spirit  and  success. 

His  drum  is  one  of  the  most  welcome 
and  beautiful  sounds  of  spring.  Scarcely 
have  the  trees  expanded  their  buds,  in  the 
still  April  mornings,  or  toward  nightfall, 
when  you  hear  the  hum  of  his  devoted 
wings.  He  selects  not,  as  you  would  pre- 
dict, a  dry  and  resinous  log,  but  a  decayed 
and  crumbling  one,  seeming  to  give  the 
preference  to  old  oak-logs  that  are  partly 
blended  with  the  soil.  If  a  log  to  his  taste 
cannot  be  found,  he  sets  up  his  altar  on  a 
rock,  which  becomes  resonant  beneath  his 
fervent  blows.  Who  has  seen  the  partridge 
drum?  It  is  the  next  thing  to  catching  a 
weasel  asleep,  though  by  much  caution  and 
tact  it  may  be  done.  He  does  not  hug  the 
log,  but  stands  very  erect,  expands  his  ruff, 
gives  two  introductory  blows,  pauses  half  a 
second,  and  then  resumes,  striking  faster  and 
faster  till  the  sound  becomes  a  continuous, 
unbroken  whir,  the  whole  lasting  less  than 
half  a  minute.  The  tips  of  his  wings  barely 
brush  the  log,  so  that  the  sound  is  produced 
rather  by  the  force  of  the  blows  upon  the 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  89 

air  and  upon  his  own  body  as  in  flying.  One 
log  will  be  used  for  many  years,  though  not 
by  the  same  drummer.  It  seems  to  be  a 
sort  of  temple  and  held  in  great  respect. 
The  bird  always  approaches  on  foot,  and 
leaves  it  in  the  same  quiet  manner,  un- 
less rudely  disturbed.  He  is  very  cunning, 
though  his  wit  is  not  profound.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  approach  him  by  stealth ;  you  will 
try  many  times  before  succeeding  ;  but  seem 
to  pass  by  him  in  a  great  hurry,  making  all 
the  noise  possible,  and  with  plumage  furled 
he  stands  as  immovable  as  a  knot,  allowing 
you  a  good  view  and  a  good  shot,  if  you  are 
a  sportsman. 

Passing  along  one  of  the  old  Bark-peel- 
ers' roads  which  wander  aimlessly  about,  I 
am  attracted  by  a  singularly  brilliant  and 
emphatic  warble,  proceeding  from  the  low 
bushes,  and  quickly  suggesting  the  voice  of 
the  Maryland  yellow-throat.  Presently  the 
singer  hops  up  on  a  dry  twig  and  gives  me  a 
good  view.  Lead-colored  head  and  neck,  be- 
coming nearly  black  on  the  breast;  clear 
olive-green  back,  and  yellow  belly.  From 
his  habit  of  keeping  near  the  ground,  even 
hopping  upon  it  occasionally,  I  know  him  to 
be  a  ground-warbler ;  from  his  dark  breast, 


90  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

the  ornithologist  has  added  the  expletive 
mourning,  hence  the  mourning  ground-war- 
bler. 

Of  this  bird  both  Wilson  and  Audubon 
confessed  their  comparative  ignorance,  nei- 
ther ever  having  seen  its  nest  or  become  ac- 
quainted with  its  haunts  and  general  habits. 
Its  song  is  quite  striking  and  novel,  though 
its  voice  at  once  suggests  the  class  of  war- 
blers to  which  it  belongs.  It  is  very  shy  and 
wary,  flying  but  a  few  feet  at  a  time,  and 
studiously  concealing  itself  from  your  view. 
I  discover  but  one  pair  here.  The  female  has 
food  in  her  beak,  but  carefully  avoids  betray- 
ing the  locality  of  her  nest.  The  ground- 
warblers  all  have  one  notable  feature,  — 
very  beautiful  legs,  as  white  and  delicate  as 
if  they  had  always  worn  silk  stockings  and 
satin  slippers.  High  tree  warblers  have 
dark-brown  or  black  legs  and  more  brilliant 
plumage,  but  less  musical  ability. 

The  chestnut-sided  belongs  to  the  latter 
class.  He  is  quite  common  in  these  woods, 
as  in  all  the  woods  about.  He  is  one  of  the 
rarest  and  handsomest  of  the  warblers ;  his 
white  breast  and  throat,  chestnut  sides,  and 
yellow  crown  show  conspicuously.  But  little 
is  known  of  his  habits  or  haunts.  Last  year 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  91 

I  found  the  nest  of  one  in  an  uplying  beech- 
wood,  in  a  low  bush  near  the  roadside,  where 
cows  passed  and  browsed  daily.  Things  went 
on  smoothly  till  the  cow-bunting  stole  her 
egg  into  it,  when  other  mishaps  followed,  and 
the  nest  was  soon  empty.  A  characteristic 
attitude  of  the  male  during  this  season  is  a 
slight  drooping  of  the  wings,  and  tail  a  little 
elevated,  which  gives  him  a  very  smart,  ban- 
tam-like appearance.  His  song  is  fine  and 
hurried,  and  not  much  of  itself,  but  has  its 
place  in  the  general  chorus. 

A  far  sweeter  strain,  falling  on  the  ear 
with  the  true  sylvan  cadence,  is  that  of  the 
black-throated  green-backed  warbler,  whom 
I  meet  at  various  points.  He  has  no  superi- 
ors among  the  true  /Sylvia.  His  song  is  very 
plain  and  simple,  but  remarkably  pure  and 
tender,  and  might  be  indicated  by  straight 

lines  thus  V  ;  the  first  two 

marks  representing  two  sweet,  silvery  notes, 
in  the  same  pitch  of  voice,  and  quite  unac- 
cented ;  the  latter  marks,  the  concluding 
notes,  wherein  the  tone  and  inflection  are 
changed.  The  throat  and  breast  of  the  male 
are  a  rich  black,  like  velvet,  his  face  yellow, 
and  his  back  a  yellowish  green. 

Beyond  the  Bark-peeling,  where  the  woods 


92  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

are  mingled  hemlock,  beech,  and  birch,  the 
languid  midsummer  note  of  the  black- 
throated  blue-back  falls  on  my  ear.  "  Twea, 
twea,  twea-e-e !  "  in  the  upward  slide,  and 
with  the  peculiar  z-ing  of  summer  insects, 
but  not  destitute  of  a  certain  plaintive  ca- 
dence. It  is  one  of  the  most  languid,  un- 
hurried sounds  in  all  the  woods.  I  feel  like 
reclining  upon  the  dry  leaves  at  once.  Au- 
dubon  says  he  has  never  heard  his  love-song ; 
but  this  is  all  the  love-song  he  has,  and  he  is 
evidently  a  very  plain  hero  with  his  little 
brown  mistress.  He  assumes  few  attitudes, 
and  is  not  a  bold  and  striking  gymnast,  like 
many  of  his  kindred.  He  has  a  preference 
for  dense  woods  of  beech  and  maple,  moves 
slowly  amid  the  lower  branches  and  smaller 
growths,  keeping  from  eight  to  ten  feet  from 
the  ground,  and  repeats  now  and  then  his 
listless,  indolent  strain.  His  back  and  crown 
are  dark  blue ;  his  throat  and  breast,  black  ; 
his  belly,  pure  white  ;  and  he  has  a  white 
spot  on  each  wing. 

Plere  and  there  I  meet  the  black  and 
white  creeping-warbler,  whose  fine  strain  re- 
minds me  of  hair-wire.  It  is  unquestionably 
the  finest  bird-song  to  be  heard.  Few  insect 
strains  will  compare  with  it  in  this  respect ; 


IN  THE  HEMLOCKS.  93 

while  it  has  none  of  the  harsh,  brassy  char- 
acter of  the  latter,  being  very  delicate  and 
tender. 

That  sharp,  uninterrupted,  but  still  con- 
tinued warble,  which,  before  one  has  learned 
to  discriminate  closely,  he  is  apt  to  confound 
with  the  red-eyed  vireo's,  is  that  of  the  soli- 
tary warbling  vireo ;  a  bird  slightly  larger, 
much  rarer,  and  with  a  louder,  less  cheerful 
and  happy  strain.  I  see  him  hopping  along 
lengthwise  of  the  limbs,  and  note  the  orange 
tinge  of  his  breast  and  sides  and  the  white 
circle  around  his  eye. 

But  the  declining  sun  and  the  deepening 
shadows  admonish  me  that  this  ramble  must 
be  brought  to  a  close,  even  though  only  the 
leading  characters  in  this  chorus  of  forty 
songsters  have  been  described,  and  only  a 
small  portion  of  the  venerable  old  woods  ex- 
plored. In  a  secluded,  swampy  corner  of  the 
old  Bark-peeling,  where  I  find  the  great  pur- 
ple orchis  in  bloom,  and  where  the  foot  of 
man  or  beast  seems  never  to  have  trod,  I  lin- 
ger long,  contemplating  the  wonderful  dis- 
play of  lichens  and  mosses  that  overrun  both 
the  smaller  and  the  larger  growths.  Every 
bush  and  branch  and  sprig  is  dressed  up  in 
the  most  rich  and  fantastic  of  liveries  ;  and, 


94  IN  THE  HEMLOCKS. 

crowning  all,  the  long  bearded  moss  festoons 
the  branches  or  sways  gracefully  from  the 
limbs.  Every  twig  looks  a  century  old, 
though  green  leaves  tip  the  end  of  it.  A 
young  yellow  birch  has  a  venerable,  patri- 
archal look,  and  seems  ill  at  ease  under  such 
premature  honors.  A  decayed  hemlock  is 
draped  as  if  by  hands  for  some  solemn  fes- 
tival. 

Mounting  toward  the  upland  again,  I 
pause  reverently,  as  the  hush  and  stillness 
of  twilight  come  upon  the  woods.  It  is  the 
sweetest,  ripest  hour  of  the  day.  And  as 
the  hermit's  evening  hymn  goes  up  from  the 
deep  solitude  below  me,  I  experience  that 
serene  exaltation  of  sentiment  of  which  mu- 
sic, literature,  and  religion  are  but  the  faint 
types  and  symbols. 


ADIRONDAC. 

WHEN  I  went  to  the  Adirondacs,  which 
was  in  the  summer  of  1863,  I  was  in  the 
first  flush  of  my  ornithological  studies,  and 
was  curious,  above  all  else,  to  know  what 
birds  I  should  find  in  these  solitudes :  what 
new  ones,  and  what  ones  already  known  to 
me. 

In  visiting  vast,  primitive,  far-off  woods, 
one  naturally  expects  to  find  something  rare 
and  precious,  or  something  entirely  new, 
but  it  commonly  happens  that  one  is  dis- 
appointed. Thoreau  made  three  excursions 
into  the  Maine  woods,  and  though  he  started 
the  moose  and  caribou,  had  nothing  more 
novel  to  report  by  way  of  bird  notes,  than 
the  songs  of  the  wood-thrush  and  the  pewee. 
This  was  about  my  own  experience  in  the 
Adirondacs.  The  birds  for  the  most  part 
prefer  the  vicinity  of  settlements  and  clear- 
ings, and  it  was  at  such  places  that  I  saw 
the  greatest  number  and  variety. 


96  ADIRONDAC. 

At  the  clearing  of  an  old  hunter  and 
pioneer  by  the  name  of  Hewett,  where  we 
paused  a  couple  of  days  on  first  entering  the 
woods,  I  saw  many  old  friends  and  made 
some  new  acquaintances.  The  snow-bird 
was  very  abundant  here,  as  it  had  been  at 
various  points  along  the  route,  after  leaving 
Lake  George.  As  I  went  to  the  spring  in 
the  morning  to  wash  myself,  a  purple  finch 
flew  up  before  me,  having  already  performed 
its  ablutions.  I  had  first  observed  this  bird 
the  winter  before  in  the  Highlands  of  the 
Hudson,  where,  during  several  clear  but  cold 
February  mornings,  a  troop  of  them  sang 
most  charmingly  in  a  tree  in  front  of  my 
house.  The  meeting  with  the  bird  here  in 
its  breeding  haunts  was  a  pleasant  surprise. 
During  the  day,  I  observed  several  pine 
finches,  —  a  dark  brown  or  brindlish  bird, 
allied  to  the  common  yellow-bird,  which  it 
much  resembles  in  its  manner  and  habits. 
They  lingered  familiarly  about  the  house, 
sometimes  alighting  in  a  small  tree  within  a 
few  feet  of  it.  In  one  of  the  stumpy  fields 
I  saw  an  old  favorite  in  the  grass  finch  or 
vesper  sparrow.  It  was  sitting  on  a  tall 
charred  stub  with  food  in  its  beak.  But  all 
along  the  borders  of  the  woods  and  in  the 


ADIRONDAC.  97 

bushy  parts  of  the  fields  there  was  a  new 
song  that  I  was  puzzled  in  tracing  to  the 
author.  It  was  most  noticeable  in  the  morn- 
ing and  at  twilight,  but  was  at  all  times  sin- 
gularly secret  and  elusive.  I  at  last  discov- 
ered that  it  wat  the  white-throated  sparrow, 
a  common  bird  all  through  this  region.  Its 
song  is  very  delicate  and  plaintive  —  a  thin, 
wavering,  tremulous  whistle,  which  disap- 
points one,  however,  as  it  ends  when  it 
seems  only  to  have  begun.  If  the  bird  could 
give  us  the  finishing  strain  of  which  this 
seems  only  the  prelude,  it  would  stand  first 
among  feathered  songsters. 

By  a  little  trout-brook  in  a  low  part  of 
the  woods  adjoining  the  clearing,  I  had  a 
good  time  pursuing  and  identifying  a  num- 
ber of  warblers:  the  speckled  Canada,  the 
black-throated  blue,  the  yellow-rumped,  and 
Audubon's  warbler.  The  latter,  which  was 
leading  its  troop  of  young  through  a  thick 
undergrowth  on  the  banks  of  the  creek  where 
insects  were  plenty,  was  new  to  me. 

It  being  August,  the  birds  were  all  moult- 
ing, and  sang  only  fitfully  and  by  brief 
snatches.  I  remember  hearing  but  one  robin 
during  the  whole  trip.  This  was  by  the 
Boreas  River  in  the  deep  forest.  It  was  like 
the  voice  of  an  old  friend  speaking  my  name. 


98  AD  IRON D  AC. 

From  Hewett's,  after  engaging  his  young- 
est son,  —  the  "Bub"  of  the  family,  —  a 
young  man  about  twenty  and  a  thorough 
woodsman,  as  guide,  we  took  to  the  woods 
in  good  earnest,  our  destination  being  the 
Stillwater  of  the  Boreas,  a  long,  deep,  dark 
reach  in  one  of  the  remote  branches  of  the 
Hudson,  about  six  miles  distant.  Here  we 
paused  a  couple  of  days,  putting  up  in  a  di- 
lapidated lumberman's  shanty,  and  cooking 
our  fish  over  an  old  stove  which  had  been 
left  there.  The  most  noteworthy  incident  of 
our  stay  at  this  point  was  the  taking  by  my- 
self of  half  a  dozen  splendid  trout  out  of  the 
Stillwater,  after  the  guide  had  exhausted  his 
art  and  his  patience  with  very  insignificant 
results.  The  place  had  a  very  trouty  look, 
but  as  the  season  was  late  and  the  river 
warm,  I  knew  the  fish  lay  in  deep  water, 
from  which  they  could  not  be  attracted.  In 
deep  water,  accordingly,  and  near  the  head 
of  the  hole,  I  determined  to  look  for  them. 
Securing  a  club,  I  cut  it  into  pieces  about 
an  inch  long,  and  with  these  for  bait,  sank 
my  hook  into  the  head  of  the  Stillwater  and 
just  to  one  side  of  the  main  current.  In  less 
than  twenty  minutes,  I  had  landed  six  noble 
fellows,  three  of  them  over  one  foot  long 


ADIRONDAC.  99 

each.  The  guide  and  my  incredulous  com- 
panions, who  were  watching  me  from  the 
opposite  shore,  seeing  my  luck,  whipped  out 
their  tackle  in  great  haste  and  began  casting 
first  at  a  respectable  distance  from  me,  then 
all  about  me,  but  without  a  single  catch. 
My  own  efforts  suddenly  became  fruitless, 
also;  but  I  had  conquered  the  guide,  and 
thenceforth  he  treated  me  with  the  tone  and 
freedom  of  a  comrade  and  equal. 

One  afternoon  we  visited  a  cave,  some  two 
miles  down  the  stream,  which  had  recently 
been  discovered.  We  squeezed  and  wrig- 
gled through  a  big  crack  or  cleft  in  the  side 
of  the  mountain,  for  about  one  hundred  feet, 
when  we  emerged  into  a  large,  dome-shaped 
passage,  the  abode,  during  certain  seasons 
of  the  year,  of  innumerable  bats,  and  at  all 
times  of  primeval  darkness.  There  were 
various  other  crannies  and  pit-holes  opening 
into  it,  some  of  which  we  explored.  The 
voice  of  running  water  was  everywhere  heard, 
betraying  the  proximity  of  the  little  stream 
by  whose  ceaseless  corroding  the  cave  and 
its  entrance  had  been  worn.  This  streamlet 
flowed  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and 
came  from  a  lake  on  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain ;  this  accounted  for  its  warmth  to  the 
hand,  which  surprised  us  all. 


100  AD1RONDAC. 

Birds  of  any  kind  were  rare  in  these 
woods.  A  pigeon-hawk  came  prowling  by 
our  camp,  and  the  faint  piping  call  of  the 
nut-hatches,  leading  their  young  through  the 
high  trees,  was  often  heard. 

On  the  third  day,  our  guide  proposed  to 
conduct  us  to  a  lake  in  the  mountains  where 
we  could  float  for  deer. 

Our  journey  commenced  in  a  steep  and 
rugged  ascent,  which  brought  us,  after  an 
hour's  heavy  climbing,  to  an  elevated  region 
of  pine  forest,  years  before  ravished  by  lum- 
bermen, and  presenting  all  manner  of  obsta- 
cles to  our  awkward  and  encumbered  pedes- 
trianism.  The  woods  were  largely  pine, 
though  yellow  birch,  beech,  and  maple  were 
common.  The  satisfaction  of  having  a  gun, 
should  any  game  show  itself,  was  the  chief 
compensation  to  those  of  us  who  were  thus 
burdened.  A  partridge  would  occasionally 
whir  up  before  us,  or  a  red  squirrel  snicker 
and  hasten  to  his  den ;  else,  the  woods  ap- 
peared quite  tenantless.  The  most  noted 
object  was  a  mammoth  pine,  apparently  the 
last  of  a  great  race,  which  presided  over  a 
cluster  of  yellow  birches,  on  the  side  of  the 
mountain. 

About  noon  we  came  out  upon  a  long,  shal- 


ADIRONDAC.  101 

low  sheet  of  water  which  the  guide  called 
Bloody-Moose  Pond,  from  the  tradition  that 
a  moose  had  been  slaughtered  there  many 
years  before.  Looking  out  over  the  silent 
and  lonely  scene,  his  eye  was  the  first  to  de- 
tect an  object  apparently  feeding  upon  lily- 
pads,  which  our  willing  fancies  readily  shaped 
into  a  deer.  As  we  were  eagerly  waiting 
some  movement  to  confirm  this  impression, 
it  lifted  up  its  head,  and  lo!  a  great  blue 
heron.  Seeing  us  approach,  it  spread  its 
long  wings  and  flew  solemnly  across  to  a 
dead  tree  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  en- 
hancing, rather  than  relieving,  the  loneliness 
and  desolation  that  brooded  over  the  scene. 

As  we  proceeded,  it  flew  from  tree  to  tree 
in  advance  of  us,  apparently  loath  to  be  dis- 
turbed in  its  ancient  and  solitary  domain. 
In  the  margin  of  the  pond,  we  found  the 
pitcher-plant  growing,  and  here  and  there  in 
the  sand,  the  closed  gentian  lifted  up  its  blue 
head. 

In  traversing  the  shores  of  this  wild,  deso- 
late lake,  I  was  conscious  of  a  slight  thrill 
of  expectation,  as  if  some  secret  of  Nature 
might  here  be  revealed,  or  some  rare  and 
unheard-of  game  disturbed.  There  is  ever 
a  lurking  suspicion  that  the  beginning  of 


102  ADIRONDAC. 

things  is  in  some  way  associated  with  water, 
and  one  may  notice  that  in  his  private  walks 
he  is  led  by  a  curious  attraction  to  fetch  all 
the  springs  and  ponds  in  his  route,  as  if  by 
them  was  the  place  for  wonders  and  miracles 
to  happen.  Once,  while  in  advance  of  my 
companions,  I  saw,  from  a  high  rock,  a  com- 
motion in  the  water  near  the  shore,  but  on 
reaching  the  point  found  only  the  marks  of 
a  musquash. 

Pressing  on  through  the  forest,  after  many 
adventures  with  the  pine-knots,  we  reached, 
about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  our  desti- 
nation, Nate's  Pond,  a  pretty  sheet  of  water, 
lying  like  a  silver  mirror  in  the  lap  of  the 
mountain,  about  a  mile  long  and  half  a  mile 
wide,  surrounded  by  dark  forests  of  balsam, 
hemlock,  and  pine,  and,  like  the  one  we  had 
just  passed,  a  very  picture  of  unbroken  soli- 
tude. 

It  is  not  in  the  woods  alone  to  give  one 
this  impression  of  utter  loneliness.  In  the 
woods  are  sounds  and  voices  and  a  dumb 
kind  of  companionship ;  one  is  little  more 
than  a  walking  tree  himself ;  but  come  upon 
one  of  these  mountain-lakes,  and  the  wild- 
ness  stands  revealed  and  meets  you  face  to 
face.  Water  is  thus  facile  and  adaptive, 


ADIRONDAC.  103 

that  it  makes  the  wild  more  wild,  while  it 
enhances  culture  and  art. 

The  end  of  the  pond  which  we  approached 
was  quite  shoal,  the  stones  rising  above  the 
surface  as  in  a  summer  brook,  and  every- 
where showing  marks  of  the  noble  game  we 
were  in  quest  of,  —  foot-prints,  dung,  and 
cropped  and  uprooted  lily-pads.  After  rest- 
ing for  a  half  hour,  and  replenishing  our 
game-pouches  at  the  expense  of  the  most  re- 
spectable frogs  of  the  locality,  we  filed  on 
through  the  soft,  resinous  pine-woods,  in- 
tending to  camp  near  the  other  end  of  the 
lake,  where,  the  guide  assured  us,  we  should 
find  a  hunter's  cabin  ready  built.  A  half- 
hour's  march  brought  us  to  the  locality,  and 
a  most  delightful  one  it  was,  —  so  hospitable 
and  inviting  that  all  the  kindly  and  benefi- 
cent influences  of  the  woods  must  have 
abided  there.  In  a  slight  depression  in  the 
woods,  about  one  hundred  yards  from  the 
lake,  though  hidden  from  it  for  a  hunter's 
reasons,  surrounded  by  a  heavy  growth  of 
birch,  hemlock,  and  pine,  with  a  lining  of 
balsam  and  fir,  the  rude  cabin  welcomed  us. 
It  was  of  the  approved  style,  three  sides  in- 
closed, with  a  roof  of  bark  and  a  bed  of 
boughs,  and  a  rock  in  front  that  afforded  a 


104  ADIRONDAC. 

permanent  back-log  to  all  fires.  A  faint 
voice  of  running  water  was  heard  near  by, 
and,  following  the  sound,  a  delicious  spring 
rivulet  was  disclosed,  hidden  by  the  moss 
and  debris  as  by  a  new  fall  of  snow,  but 
here  and  there  rising  in  little  well-like  open- 
ings, as  if  for  our  special  convenience.  On 
smooth  places  on  the  logs,  I  noticed  female 
names  inscribed  in  a  female  hand ;  and  the 
guide  told  us  of  an  English  lady,  an  artist, 
who  had  traversed  this  region  with  a  single 
guide,  making  sketches. 

Our  packs  unslung  and  the  kettle  over, 
our  first  move  was  to  ascertain  in  what  state 
of  preservation  a  certain  dug-out  might  be, 
which  the  guide  averred  he  had  left  moored 
in  the  vicinity  the  summer  before,  for  upon 
this  hypothetical  dug-out  our  hopes  of  veni- 
son rested.  After  a  little  searching,  it  was 
found  under  the  top  of  a  fallen  hemlock,  but 
in  a  sorry  condition.  A  large  piece  had 
been  split  out  of  one  end,  and  a  fearful 
chink  was  visible  nearly  to  the  water-line. 
But  freed  from  the  tree-top,  and  caulked 
with  a  little  moss,  it  floated  with  two  aboard, 
which  was  quite  enough  for  our  purpose.  A 
jack  and  an  oar  were  necessary  to  complete 
the  arrangement,  and  before  the  sun  had  set, 


AD  I  RON D  AC.  105 

our  professor  of  woodcraft  had  both  in  read- 
iness. From  a  young  yellow  birch,  an  oar 
took  shape  with  marvellous  rapidity,  trimmed 
and  smoothed  with  a  neatness  almost  fastid- 
ious, —  no  makeshift,  but  an  instrument  fit- 
ted for  the  delicate  work  it  was  to  perform. 
A  jack  was  made  with  equal  skill  and 
speed.  A  stout  staff  about  three  feet  long  was 
placed  upright  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and 
held  to  its  place  by  a  horizontal  bar,  through 
a  hole  in  which  it  turned  easily :  a  half  wheel 
eight  or  ten  inches  in  diameter,  cut  from  a 
large  chip,  was  placed  at  the  top,  around 
which  was  bent  a  new  section  of  birch  bark, 
thus  forming  a  rude  semicircular  reflector. 
Three  candles  placed  within  the  circle  com- 
pleted the  jack.  With  moss  and  boughs, 
seats  were  arranged  —  one  in  the  bow  for 
the  marksman,  and  one  in  the  stern  for  the 
oarsman.  A  meal  of  frogs  and  squirrels  was 
a  good  preparation,  and  when  darkness  came, 
all  were  keenly  alive  to  the  opportunity  it 
brought.  Though  by  no  means  an  expert  in 
the  use  of  the  gun,  —  adding  the  superlative 
degree  of  enthusiasm  to  only  the  positive 
degree  of  skill, — yet  it  seemed  tacitly 
agreed  that  I  should  act  as  marksman,  and 
kill  the  deer,  if  such  was  to  be  our  luck. 


106  ADIRONDAC. 

After  it  was  thoroughly  dark,  we  went 
down  to  make  a  short  trial  trip.  Everything 
working  to  satisfaction,  about  ten  o'clock  we 
pushed  out  in  earnest.  For  the  twentieth 
time,  I  felt  in  the  pocket  that  contained  the 
matches,  ran  over  the  part  I  was  to  perform, 
and  pressed  my  gun  firmly,  to  be  sure  there 
was  no  mistake.  My  position  was  that  of 
kneeling  directly  under  the  jack,  which  I 
was  to  light  at  the  word.  The  night  was 
clear,  moonless,  and  still.  Nearing  the  mid- 
dle of  the  lake,  a  breeze  from  the  west  was 
barely  perceptible,  and  noiselessly  we  glided 
before  it.  The  guide  handled  his  oar  with 
great  dexterity ;  without  lifting  it  from  the 
water  or  breaking  the  surface,  he  imparted 
the  steady,  uniform  motion  desired.  How 
silent  it  was !  The  ear  seemed  the  only 
sense,  and  to  hold  dominion  over  lake  and 
forest.  Occasionally  a  lily-pad  would  brush 
along  the  bottom,  and,  stooping  low,  I  could 
hear  a  faint  murmuring  of  the  water  under 
the  bow:  else  all  was  still.  Then,  almost 
as  by  magic,  we  were  encompassed  by  a 
huge  black  ring.  The  surface  of  the  lake, 
when  we  had  reached  the  centre,  was  slightly 
luminous  from  the  starlight,  and  the  dark, 
even,  forest-line  that  surrounded  us  doubled 


ADIRONDAC.  107 

by  reflection  in  the  water,  presenting  a 
broad,  unbroken  belt  of  utter  blackness. 
The  effect  was  quite  startling,  like  some 
huge  conjurer's  trick.  It  seemed  as  if  we 
had  crossed  the  boundary-line  between  the 
real  and  the  imaginary,  and  this  was  indeed 
the  land  of  shadows  and  of  spectres.  What 
magic  oar  was  that  the  guide  wielded,  that 
it  could  transport  me  to  such  a  realm  !  In- 
deed, had  I  not  committed  some  fatal  mis- 
take, and  left  that  trusty  servant  behind, 
and  had  not  some  wizard  of  the  night  stepped 
into  his  place  ?  A  slight  splashing  in-shore 
broke  the  spell  and  caused  me  to  turn  ner- 
vously to  the  oarsman:  "Musquash,"  said 
he,  and  kept  straight  on. 

Nearing  the  extreme  end  of  the  pond,  the 
boat  gently  headed  around,  and  silently  we 
glided  back  into  the  clasp  of  that  strange 
orbit.  Slight  sounds  were  heard  as  before, 
but  nothing  that  indicated  the  presence  of 
the  game  we  were  waiting  for ;  and  we  reached 
the  point  of  departure  as  innocent  of  venison 
as  we  had  set  out. 

After  an  hour's  delay,  and  near  midnight, 
we  pushed  out  again.  My  vigilance  and 
susceptibility  were  rather  sharpened  than 
dulled  by  the  waiting ;  and  the  features  of 


108  ADIRONDAC. 

the  night  had  also  deepened  and  intensified. 
Night  was  at  its  meridian.  The  sky  had 
that  soft  luminousness  which  may  often  be 
observed  near  midnight  at  this  season,  and 
the  "  large  few  stars  "  beamed  mildly  down. 
We  floated  out  into  that  spectral  shadow- 
land  and  moved  slowly  on  as  before.  The 
silence  was  most  impressive.  Now  and  then 
the  faint  yeap  of  some  travelling  bird  would 
come  from  the  air  overhead,  or  the  wings  of 
a  bat  whisp  quickly  by,  or  an  owl  hoot  off 
in  the  mountains,  giving  to  the  silence  and 
loneliness  a  tongue.  At  short  intervals  some 
noise  in-shore  would  startle  me,  and  cause 
me  to  turn  inquiringly  to  the  silent  figure  in 
the  stern. 

The  end  of  the  lake  was  reached,  and  we 
turned  back.  The  novelty  and  the  excite- 
ment began  to  flag ;  tired  nature  began 
to  assert  her  claims ;  the  movement  was 
soothing,  and  the  gunner  slumbered  fitfully  at 
his  post.  Presently  something  aroused  me. 
"  There 's  a  deer,"  whispered  the  guide.  The 
gun  heard,  and  fairly  jumped  in  my  hand. 
Listening,  there  came  the  cracking  of  a  limb, 
followed  by  a  sound  as  of  something  walking 
in  shallow  water.  It  proceeded  from  the 
other  end  of  the  lake,  over  against  our  camp. 


ADIRONDAC.  109 

On  we  sped,  noiselessly  as  ever,  but  with  in- 
creased velocity.  Presently,  with  a  thrill  of 
new  intensity,  I  saw  the  boat  was  gradually 
heading  in  that  direction.  Now,  to  a  sports- 
man who  gets  excited  over  a  gray  squirrel, 
and  forgets  that  he  has  a  gun  on  the  sudden 
appearance  of  a  fox,  this  was  a  severe  trial. 
I  felt  suddenly  cramped  for  room,  and  trim- 
ming the  boat  was  out  of  the  question.  It 
seemed  that  I  must  make  some  noise  in  spite 
of  myself.  "  Light  the  jack,"  said  a  soft 
whisper  behind  me.  I  fumbled  nervously 
for  a  match,  and  dropped  the  first  one.  An- 
other was  drawn  briskly  across  my  knee, 
and  broke.  A  third  lighted,  but  went  out 
prematurely,  in  my  haste  to  get  it  up  to  the 
jack.  What  would  I  not  have  given  to  see 
those  wicks  blaze !  We  were  fast  nearing 
the  shore,  —  already  the  lily-pads  began  to 
brush  along  the  bottom.  Another  attempt, 
and  the  light  took.  The  gentle  motion 
fanned  the  blaze,  and  in  a  moment  a  broad 
glare  of  light  fell  upon  the  water  in  front  of 
us,  while  the  boat  remained  in  utter  dark- 
ness. 

By  this  time,  I  had  got  beyond  the  ner- 
vous point,  and  had  come  round  to  perfect 
coolness  and  composure  again,  but  preter- 


HO  AD  I  RON D  AC. 

naturally  vigilant  and  keen.  I  was  ready 
for  any  disclosures ;  not  a  sound  was  heard. 
In  a  few  moments,  the  trees  along-shore  were 
faintly  visible.  Every  object  put  on  the 
shape  of  a  gigantic  deer.  A  large  rock 
looked  just  ready  to  bound  away.  The  dry 
limbs  of  a  prostrate  tree  were  surely  his 
antlers. 

But  what  are  those  two  luminous  spots? 
Need  the  reader  to  be  told  what  they  were  ? 
In  a  moment  the  head  of  a  real  deer  became 
outlined ;  then  his  neck  and  fore-shoulders  ; 
then  his  whole  body.  There  he  stood,  up  to 
his  knees  in  the  water,  gazing  fixedly  at  us, 
apparently  arrested  in  the  movement  of  put- 
ting his  head  down  for  a  lily-pad,  and  evi- 
dently thinking  it  was  some  new-fangled 
moon  sporting  about  there.  "Let  him  have 
it,"  said  my  prompter,  and  the  crash  came. 
There  was  a  scuffle  in  the  water,  and  a 
plunge  in  the  woods.  "  He 's  gone,"  said  I. 
"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  the  guide,  "  and  I 
will  show  you."  Rapidly  running  the  canoe 
ashore,  we  sprang  out,  and,  holding  the  jack 
aloft,  explored  the  vicinity  by  its  light. 
There,  over  the  logs  and  brush,  I  caught 
the  glimmer  of  those  luminous  spots  again. 
But,  poor  thing!  there  was  little  need  of  the 


ADIRONDAC.  Ill 

second  shot,  which  was  the  unkindest  cut  of 
all,  for  the  deer  had  already  fallen  to  the 
ground,  and  was  fast  expiring.  The  success 
was  but  a  very  indifferent  one,  after  all,  as 
the  victim  turned  out  to  be  only  an  old  doe, 
upon  whom  maternal  cares  had  evidently 
worn  heavily  during  the  summer. 

This  mode  of  taking  deer  is  very  novel 
and  strange.  The  animal  is  evidently  fasci- 
nated or  bewildered.  It  does  not  appear  to 
be  frightened,  but  as  if  overwhelmed  with 
amazement,  or  under  the  influence  of  some 
spell.  It  is  not  sufficiently  master  of  the 
situation  to  be  sensible  to  fear,  or  to  think 
of  escape  by  flight ;  and  the  experiment,  to 
be  successful,  must  be  done  quickly,  before 
the  first  feeling  of  bewilderment  passes. 

Witnessing  the  spectacle  from  the  shore, 
I  can  conceive  of  nothing  more  sudden  or 
astounding.  You  see  no  movement  and  hear 
no  noise ;  but  the  light  grows  upon  you,  and 
stares  and  stares  like  a  huge  eye  from  the 
infernal  regions. 

According  to  the  guide,  when  a  deer  has 
been  played  upon  in  this  manner  and  escaped, 
he  is  not  to  be  fooled  a  second  time.  Mount- 
ing the  shore,  he  gives  a  long  signal  snort, 


112  AD  IRON D  AC. 

which  alarms  every  animal  within  hearing, 
and  dashes  away. 

The  sequel  to  the  deer-shooting  was  a  lit- 
tle sharp  practice  with  a  revolver  upon  a 
rabbit,  or  properly  a  hare,  which  was  so  taken 
with  the  spectacle  of  the  camp-fire,  and  the 
sleeping  figures  lying  about,  that  it  ventured 
quite  up  in  our  midst ;  but  while  testing  the 
quality  of  some  condensed  milk  that  sat  un- 
covered at  the  foot  of  a  large  tree,  poor 
Lepus  had  his  spine  injured  by  a  bullet. 

Those  who  lodge  with  Nature  find  early 
rising  quite  in  order.  It  is  our  voluptuous 
beds,  and  isolation  from  the  earth  and  the 
air,  that  prevents  us  from  emulating  the 
birds  and  beasts  in  this  respect.  With  the 
citizen  in  his  chamber,  it  is  not  morning, 
but  breakfast-time.  The  camper-out,  -how- 
ever, feels  morning  in  the  air  ;  he  smells  it, 
sees  it,  hears  it,  and  springs  up  with  the 
general  awakening.  None  were  tardy  at 
the  row  of  white  chips  arranged  on  the 
trunk  of  a  prostrate  tree,  when  breakfast 
was  hallooed;  for  we  were  all  anxious  to  try 
the  venison.  Few  of  us,  however,  took  a 
second  piece.  It  was  black  and  strong. 

The   day   was   warm   and  calm,  and  we 


ADIRONDAC.  113 

loafed  at  leisure.  The  woods  were  Nature's 
own.  It  was  a  luxury  to  ramble  through 
them,  —  rank,  and  shaggy,  and  venerable, 
but  with  an  aspect  singularly  ripe  and  mel- 
low. No  fire  had  consumed  and  no  lumber- 
man plundered.  Every  trunk  and  limb  and 
leaf  lay  where  it  had  fallen.  At  every  step 
the  foot  sank  into  the  moss,  which  like  a 
soft  green  snow  covered  everything,  making 
every  stone  a  cushion  and  every  rock  a  bed, 
—  a  grand  old  Norse  parlor,  adorned  beyond 
art  and  upholstered  beyond  skill. 

Indulging  in  a  brief  nap  on  a  rug  of  club- 
moss  carelessly  dropped  at  the  foot  of  a  pine- 
tree,  I  woke  up  to  find  myself  the  subject  of 
a  discussion  of  a  troop  of  chickadees.  Pres- 
ently three  or  four  shy  wood-warblers  came 
to  look  upon  this  strange  creature  that  had 
wandered  into  their  haunts  ;  else  I  passed 
quite  unnoticed. 

By  the  lake,  I  met  that  orchard-beauty, 
the  cedar  wax-wing,  spending  his  vacation 
in  the  assumed  character  of  a  fly-catcher, 
whose  part  he  performed  with  great  accuracy 
and  deliberation.  Only  a  month  before,  I 
had  seen  him  regaling  himself  upon  cherries 
in  the  garden  and  orchard ;  but  as  the  dog- 
days  approached,  he  set  out  for  the  streams 


114  ADIRONDAC. 

and  lakes,  to  divert  himself  with  the  more 
exciting  pursuits  of  the  chase.  From  the 
tops  of  the  dead  trees  along  the  border  of 
the  lake,  he  would  sally  out  in  all  directions, 
sweeping  through  long  curves,  alternately 
mounting  and  descending,  now  reaching  up 
for  a  fly,  high  in  air,  now  sinking  low  for  one 
near  the  surface,  and  returning  to  his  perch 
in  a  few  moments  for  a  fresh  start. 

The  pine  finch  was  also  here,  though,  as 
usual,  never  appearing  at  home,  but  with  a 
waiting,  expectant  air.  Here,  also,  I  met  my 
beautiful  singer,  the  hermit-thrush,  but  with 
no  song  in  his  throat  now.  A  week  or  two 
later,  and  he  was  on  his  journey  southward. 
This  was  the  only  species  of  thrush  I  saw 
in  the  Adirondac.  Near  Lake  Sandford, 
where  were  large  tracts  of  raspberry  and 
wild  cherry,  I  saw  numbers  of  them.  A  boy 
whom  we  met,  driving  home  some  stray 
cows,  said  it  was  the  "  partridge-bird,"  no 
doubt  from  the  resemblance  of  its  note,  when 
disturbed,  to  the  cluck  of  the  partridge. 

Nate's  Pond  contained  perch  and  sun-fish, 
but  no  trout.  Its  water  was  not  pure  enough 
for  trout.  Was  there  ever  any  other  fish  so 
fastidious  as  this,  requiring  such  sweet  har- 
mony and  perfection  of  the  elements  for 


AD1RONDAC.  115 

its  production  and  sustenance  ?  On  higher 
ground,  about  a  mile  distant,  was  a  trout 
pond,  the  shores  of  which  were  steep  and 
rocky. 

Our  next  move  was  a  tramp  of  about 
twelve  miles  through  the  wilderness,  most 
of  the  way  in  a  drenching  rain,  to  a  place 
called  the  Lower  Iron  Works,  situated  on 
the  road  leading  into  Long  Lake,  which  is 
about  a  day's  drive  farther  on.  We  found 
a  comfortable  hotel  here,  and  were  glad 
enough  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  shelter  and 
warmth  which  it  offered.  There  was  a  little 
settlement  and  some  quite  good  farms.  The 
place  commands  a  fine  view  to  the  north  of 
Indian  Pass,  Mount  Marcy,  and  the  ad- 
jacent mountains.  On  the  afternoon  of  our 
arrival,  and  also  the  next  morning,  the  view 
was  completely  shut  off  by  the  fog.  But 
about  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  the  wind 
changed,  the  fog  lifted,  and  revealed  to  us 
the  grandest  mountain  scenery  we  had  be- 
held on  our  journey.  There  they  sat,  about 
fifteen  miles  distant,  a  group  of  them :  Mount 
Marcy,  Mount  Mclntyre,  and  Mount  Golden, 
the  real  Adirondac  monarchs.  It  was  an 
impressive  sight,  rendered  doubly  so  by  the 
sudden  manner  in  which  it  was  revealed  to 
us  by  that  scene  shifter,  the  Wind. 


116  ADI  RON D  AC. 

I  saw  blackbirds  at  this  place,  and  spar- 
rows, and  the  solitary  sandpiper,  and  the 
Canada  woodpecker,  and  a  large  number  of 
humming-birds.  Indeed,  I  saw  more  of  the 
latter  here  than  I  ever  before  saw  in  any  one 
locality.  Their  squeaking  and  whirring  were 
almost  incessant. 

The  Adirondac  Iron  Works  belong  to  the 
past.  Over  thirty  years  ago,  a  company  in 
Jersey  City  purchased  some  sixty  thousand 
acres  of  land  lying  along  the  Adirondac 
River  and  abounding  in  magnetic  iron  ore. 
The  land  was  cleared,  roads,  dams,  and 
forges  were  constructed,  and  the  work  of 
manufacturing  iron  begun. 

At  this  point,  a  dam  was  built  across  the 
Hudson,  the  waters  of  which  flowed  back 
into  Lake  Sandford,  about  five  miles  above. 
The  lake  itself  being  some  six  miles  long, 
tolerable  navigation  was  thus  established  for 
a  distance  of  eleven  miles,  to  the  Upper 
Works,  which  seem  to  have  been  the  only 
works  in  operation.  At  the  Lower  Works, 
besides  the  remains  of  the  dam,  the  only 
vestige  I  saw  was  a  long,  low  mound,  over- 
grown with  grass  and  weeds,  that  suggested 
a  rude  earth-work.  We  were  told  that  it 
was  once  a  pile  of  wood  containing  hundreds 


AD1RONDAC.  117 

of  cords,  cut  in  regular  lengths,  and  corded 
up  here  for  use  in  the  furnaces. 

At  the  Upper  Works,  some  twelve  miles 
distant,  quite  a  village  had  been  built,  which 
was  now  entirely  abandoned,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  single  family. 

A  march  to  this  place  was  our  next  un- 
dertaking. The  road  for  two  or  three  miles 
kept  up  from  the  river,  and  led  us  by  three 
or  four  rough,  stumpy  farms.  It  then  ap- 
proached the  lake  and  kept  along  its  shores. 
It  was  here  a  dilapidated  corduroy  structure 
that  compelled  the  traveller  to  keep  an  eye 
on  his  feet.  Blue  jays,  two  or  three  small 
hawks,  a  solitary  wild  pigeon,  and  ruffed 
grouse  were  seen  along  the  route.  Now  and 
then,  the  lake  gleamed  through  the  trees,  or 
we  crossed  on  a  shaky  bridge  some  of  its 
arms  or  inlets.  After  a  while,  we  began  to 
pass  dilapidated  houses  by  the  roadside.  One 
little  frame  house  I  remember  particularly  ; 
the  door  was  off  the  hinges,  and  leaned 
against  the  jambs ;  the  windows  had  but  a 
few  panes  left,  which  glared  vacantly.  The 
yard  and  little  garden  spot  were  overrun 
with  a  heavy  growth  of  timothy,  and  the 
fences  had  all  long  since  gone  to  decay.  At 
the  head  of  the  lake,  a  large  stone  building 


118  ADIRONDAC. 

projected  from  the  steep  fyank,  and  extended 
over  the  road.  A  little  beyond,  the  valley 
opened  to  the  east,  and,  looking  ahead  about 
one  mile,  we  saw  smoke  going  up  from  a 
single  chimney.  Pressing  on,  just  as  the 
sun  was  setting,  we  entered  the  deserted 
village.  The  barking  of  the  dog  brought 
the  whole  family  into  the  street,  and  they 
stood  till  we  came  up.  Strangers  in  that 
country  were  a  novelty,  and  we  were  greeted 
like  familiar  acquaintances. 

Hunter,  the  head,  proved  to  be  a  first-rate 
type  of  an  Americanized  Irishman.  His 
wife  was  a  Scotch  woman.  They  had  a 
family  of  five  or  six  children,  two  of  them 
grown-up  daughters  —  modest,  comely  young 
women  as  you  would  find  anywhere.  The 
elder  of  the  two  had  spent  a  winter  in  New 
York  with  her  aunt,  which  perhaps  made  her 
a  little  more  self-conscious  when  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  strange  young  men.  Hunter  was 
hired  by  the  company  at  a  dollar  a  day  to  live 
here,  and  see  that  things  were  not  wantonly 
destroyed  but  allowed  to  go  to  decay  properly 
and  decently.  He  had  a  substantial,  roomy 
frame  house  and  any  amount  of  grass  and 
woodland.  He  had  good  barns  and  kept 
considerable  stock,  and  raised  various  farm 


ADIRONDAC.  119 

products,  but  only  for  his  own  use,  as  the 
difficulties  of  transportation  to  market,  some 
seventy  miles  distant,  made  it  no  object.  He 
usually  went  to  Ticonderoga  on  Lake  Cham- 
plain  once  a  year  for  his  groceries,  etc.  His 
post-office  was  twelve  miles  below,  at  the 
Lower  Works,  where  the  mail  passed  twice 
a  week.  There  was  not  a  doctor,  or  lawyer, 
or  preacher  within  twenty-five  miles.  In 
winter,  months  elapse  without  their  seeing 
anybody  from  the  outside  world.  In  sum- 
mer, parties  occasionally  pass  through  here 
on  their  way  to  Indian  Pass  and  Mount 
Marcy.  Hundreds  of  tons  of  good  timothy 
hay  annually  rot  down  upon  the  cleared 
land. 

After  nightfall  we  went  out  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  grass-grown  streets.  It 
was  a  curious  and  melancholy  spectacle. 
The  remoteness  and  surrounding  wildness 
rendered  the  scene  doubly  impressive.  And 
the  next  day  and  the  next,  the  place  was  an 
object  of  wonder.  There  were  about  thirty 
buildings  in  all,  most  of  them  small  frame 
houses,  with  a  door  and  two  windows  opening 
into  a  small  yard  in  front  and  a  garden  in 
the  rear,  such  as  are  usually  occupied  by  the 
laborers  in  a  country  manufacturing  district. 


120  AD  IRON  D  AC. 

There  was  one  large  two-story  boarding 
house,  a  school-house  with  a  cupola  and  a 
bell  in  it,  and  numerous  sheds  and  forges, 
and  a  saw-mill.  In  front  of  the  saw-mill, 
and  ready  to  be  rolled  to  their  place  on  the 
carriage,  lay  a  large  pile  of  pine  logs,  so  de- 
cayed that  one  could  run  his  walking-stick 
through  them.  Near  by,  a  building  rilled 
with  charcoal  was  bursting  open,  and  the 
coal  going  to  waste  on  the  ground.  The 
smelting  works  were  also  much  crumbled 
by  time.  The  school-house  was  still  used. 
Every  day  one  of  the  daughters  assembles 
her  smaller  brothers  and  sisters  there  and 
school  keeps.  The  district  library  contained 
nearly  one  hundred  readable  books,  which 
were  well  thumbed. 

The  absence  of  society,  etc.,  had  made  the 
family  all  good  readers.  We  brought  them 
an  illustrated  newspaper  which  was  awaiting 
them  in  the  post-office  at  the  Lower  Works. 
It  was  read  and  reread  with  great  eagerness 
by  every  member  of  the  household. 

The  iron  ore  cropped  out  on  every  hand. 
There  was  apparently  mountains  of  it ;  one 
could  see  it  in  the  stones  along  the  road. 
But  the  difficulties  met  with  in  separating 
the  iron  from  its  alloys,  together  with  the 


ADIRONDAC.  121 

expense  of  transportation  and  the  failure  of 
certain  railroad  schemes,  caused  the  works 
to  be  abandoned.  No  doubt  the  time  is  not 
distant  when  these  obstacles  will  be  overcome 
and  this  region  reopened. 

At  present  it  is  an  admirable  place  to  go 
to.  There  is  fishing  and  hunting  and  boat- 
ing and  mountain  climbing  within  easy 
reach,  and  a  good  roof  over  your  head  at 
night,  which  is  no  small  matter.  One  is 
often  disqualified  for  enjoying  the  woods, 
after  he  gets  there,  by  the  loss  of  sleep  and 
of  proper  food,  taken  at  seasonable  times. 
This  point  attended  to,  and  one  is  in  the 
humor  for  any  enterprise. 

About  half  a  mile  northeast  of  the  vil- 
lage is  Lake  Henderson,  a  very  irregular  and 
picturesque  sheet  of  water,  surrounded  by 
dark  evergreen  forests,  and  abutted  by  two  or 
three  bold  promontories  with  mottled  white 
and  gray  rocks.  Its  greatest  extent  in  any 
one  direction  is  perhaps  less  than  a  mile. 
Its  waters  are  perfectly  clear  and  abound 
in  lake  trout.  A  considerable  stream  flows 
into  it  which  comes  down  from  Indian  Pass. 

A  mile  south  of  the  village  is  Lake  Sand- 
ford.  This  is  a  more  open  and  exposed 
sheet  of  water,  and  much  larger.  From 


122  AD  I  RON D  AC. 

some  parts  of  it,  Mount  Marcy  and  the 
gorge  of  the  Indian  Pass  are  seen  to  excel- 
lent advantage.  The  Indian  Pass  shows  as 
a  huge  cleft  in  the  mountain,  the  gray  walls 
rising  on  one  side  perpendicularly  for  many 
hundred  feet.  This  lake  abounds  in  white 
and  yellow  perch  and  in  pickerel ;  of  the 
latter,  single  specimens  are  often  caught 
which  weigh  fifteen  pounds.  There  were  a 
few  wild  ducks  on  both  lakes.  A  brood  of 
the  goosander,  or  red  merganser,  the  young 
not  yet  able  to  fly,  was  the  occasion  of  some 
spirited  rowing.  But  with  two  pairs  of  oars, 
in  a  trim  light  skiff,  it  was  impossible  to 
come  up  with  them.  Yet  we  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  give  them  a  chase  every 
day  when  we  first  came  on  the  lake.  It 
needed  a  good  long  pull  to  sober  us  down  so 
we  could  fish. 

The  land  on  the  east  side  of  the  lake  had 
been  burnt  over,  and  was  now  mostly  grown 
up  with  wild  cherry  and  red  raspberry  bushes. 
Ruffed  grouse  were  found  here  in  great  num- 
bers. The  Canada  grouse  was  also  common. 
I  shot  eight  of  the  latter  in  less  than  an  hour 
on  one  occasion ;  the  eighth  one,  which  was 
an  old  male,  was  killed  with  smooth  peb- 
ble stones,  my  shot  having  run  short.  The 


ADIRONDAC.  123 

wounded  bird  ran  under  a  pile  of  brush,  like 
a  frightened  hen.  Thrusting  a  forked  stick 
down  through  the  interstices,  I  soon  stopped 
his  breathing.  Wild  pigeons  were  quite  nu- 
merous, also.  These  latter  recall  a  singular 
freak  of  the  sharp-shinned  hawk.  A  flock 
of  pigeons  alighted  on  the  top  of  a  dead  hem- 
lock standing  in  the  edge  of  a  swamp.  I 
got  over  the  fence  and  moved  toward  them 
across  an  open  space.  I  had  not  taken  many 
steps,  when,  on  looking  up,  I  saw  the  whole 
•flock  again  in  motion,  flying  very  rapidly 
around  the  butt  of  a  hill.  Just  then,  this 
hawk  alighted  on  the  same  tree.  I  stepped 
back  into  the  road,  and  paused  a  moment  in 
doubt  which  course  to  go.  At  that  instant, 
the  little  hawk  launched  into  the  air,  and 
came  as  straight  as  an  arrow  toward  me.  I 
looked  in  amazement,  but  in  less  than  half 
a  minute  he  was  within  fifty  feet  of  my 
face,  coming  full  tilt,  as  if  he  had  sighted  my 
nose.  Almost  in  self-defence,  I  let  fly  one 
barrel  of  my  gun,  and  the  mangled  form  of 
the  audacious  marauder  fell  literally  between 
my  feet. 

Of  wild  animals,  such  as  bears,  panthers, 
wolves,  wild  cats,  etc.,  we  neither  saw  nor 
heard  any  in  the  Adirondacs.  "  A  howling 


124  AD  I  RON D AC. 

wilderness,"  Thoreau  says,  "  seldom  ever 
howls.  The  howling  is  chiefly  done  by 
the  imagination  of  the  traveller."  Hunter 
said  he  often  saw  bear  tracks  in  the  snow, 
but  had  never  yet  met  Bruin.  Deer  are 
more  or  less  abundant  everywhere,  and  one 
old  sportsman  declares  there  is  yet  a  single 
moose  in  these  mountains.  On  our  return, 
a  pioneer  settler,  at  whose  house  we  stayed 
over  night,  told  us  a  long  adventure  he  had 
had  with  a  panther.  He  related  how  it 
screamed ;  how  it  followed  him  in  the  brush ; 
how  he  took  to  his  boat ;  how  its  eyes  gleamed 
from  the  shore,  and  how  he  fired  his  rifle  at 
them  with  fatal  effect.  His  wife,  in  the 
mean  time,  took  something  from  a  drawer, 
and  as  her  husband  finished  his  recital,  she 
produced  a  toe-nail  of  the  identical  animal 
with  marked  dramatic  effect. 

But  better  than  fish  or  game  or  grand 
scenery  or  any  adventure  by  night  or  day,  is 
the  wordless  intercourse  with  rude  Nature 
one  has  on  these  expeditions.  It  is  some- 
thing to  press  the  pulse  of  our  old  mother 
by  mountain  lakes  and  streams,  and  know 
what  health  and  vigor  are  in  her  veins,  and 
how  regardless  of  observation  she  deports 
herself. 


BIKDS'-NESTS. 

How  alert  and  vigilant  the  birds  are,  even 
when  absorbed  in  building  their  nests !  In 
an  open  space  in  the  woods,  I  see  a  pair  of 
cedar-birds  collecting  moss  from  the  top  of  a 
dead  tree.  Following  the  direction  in  which 
they  fly,  I  soon  discover  the  nest  placed  in 
the  fork  of  a  small  soft-maple,  which  stands 
amid  a  thick  growth  of  wild-cherry  trees 
and  young  beeches.  Carefully  concealing 
myself  beneath  it,  without  any  fear  that  the 
workmen  will  hit  me  with  a  chip  or  let  fall 
a  tool,  I  await  the  return  of  the  busy  pair. 
Presently  1  hear  the  well-known  note,  and 
the  female  sweeps  down  and  settles  unsus- 
pectingly into  the  half-finished  structure. 
Hardly  have  her  wings  rested,  before  her  eye 
has  penetrated  my  screen,  and  with  a  hurried 
movement  of  alarm,  she  darts  away.  In  a 
moment,  the  male,  with  a  tuft  of  wool  in  his 
beak  (for  there  is  a  sheep  pasture  near), 
joins  her,  and  the  two  reconnoitre  the  prem- 
ises from  the  surrounding  bushes.  With 


126  BIRDS'-NJESTS. 

their  beaks  still  loaded,  they  move  around 
with  a  frightened  look,  and  refuse  to  ap- 
proach the  nest  till  I  have  moved  off  and 
lain  down  behind  a  log.  Then  one  of  them 
ventures  to  alight  upon  the  nest,  but,  still 
suspecting  all  is  not  right,  quickly  darts 
away  again.  Then  they  both  together  come, 
and  after  much  peeping  and  spying  about, 
and  apparently  much  anxious  consultation, 
cautiously  proceed  to  work.  In  less  than 
half  an  hour,  it  would  seem  that  wool  enough 
has  been  brought  to  supply  the  whole  fam- 
ily, real  and  prospective,  with  socks,  if  nee- 
dles and  fingers  could  be  found  fine  enough 
to  knit  it  up.  In  less  than  a  week,  the  fe- 
male has  begun  to  deposit  her  eggs,  —  four 
of  them  in  as  many  days,  —  white  tinged 
with  purple,  with  black  spots  on  the  larger 
end.  After  two  weeks  of  incubation,  the 
young  are  out. 

Excepting  the  American  goldfinch,  this 
bird  builds  later  in  the  spring  than  any 
other,  its  nest,  in  our  northern  climate,  sel- 
dom being  undertaken  till  July.  As  with 
the  goldfinch,  the  reason  is,  probably,  that 
suitable  food  for  the  young  cannot  be  had  at 
an  earlier  period. 

Like  most  of  our  common  species,  as  the 


BIRD&-NESTS.  127 

robin,  sparrow,  bluebird,  pewee,  wren,  etc., 
this  bird  sometimes  seeks  wild,  remote  local- 
ities in  which  to  rear  its  young ;  at  others, 
takes  up  its  abode  near  that  of  man.  I 
knew  a  pair  of  cedar-birds,  one  season,  to 
build  in  an  apple-tree,  the  branches  of  which 
rubbed  against  the  house.  For  a  day  or 
two  before  the  first  straw  was  laid,  I  noticed 
the  pair  carefully  exploring  every  branch  of 
the  tree,  the  female  taking  the  lead,  the 
male  following  her  with  an  anxious  note  and 
look.  It  was  evident  that  the  wife  was  to 
have  her  choice  this  time ;  and,  like  one  who 
thoroughly  knew  her  mind,  she  was  proceed- 
ing to  take  it.  Finally  the  site  was  chosen 
upon  a  high  branch,  extending  over  one  low 
wing  of  the  house.  Mutual  congratulations 
and  caresses  followed,  when  both  birds  flew 
away  in  quest  of  building  material.  That 
most  freely  used  is  a  sort  of  cotton-bearing 
plant,  which  grows  in  old,  worn-out  fields. 
The  nest  is  large  for  the  size  of  the  bird, 
and  very  soft.  It  is  in  every  respect  a  first- 
class  domicile. 

On  another  occasion,  while  walking,  or 
rather  sauntering,  in  the  woods  (for  I  have 
discovered  that  one  cannot  run  and  read  the 
book  of  nature),  my  attention  was  arrested 


128  BIRD&-NEST8. 

by  a  dull  hammering,  evidently  but  a  few 
rods  off.  I  said  to  myself,  "  Some  one  is 
building  a  house."  From  what  I  had  pre- 
viously seen,  I  suspected  the  builder  to  be  a 
red-headed  woodpecker,  in  the  top  of  a  dead 
oak  stub  near  by.  Moving  cautiously  in 
that  direction,  I  perceived  a  round  hole, 
about  the  size  of  that  made  by  an  inch-and- 
a-half  auger,  near  the  top  of  the  decayed 
trunk,  and  the  white  chips  of  the  workman 
strewing  the  ground  beneath.  When  but  a 
few  paces  from  the  tree,  my  foot  pressed 
upon  a  dry  twig,  which  gave  forth  a  very 
slight  snap.  Instantly  the  hammering  ceased, 
and  a  scarlet  head  appeared  at  the  door. 
Though  I  remained  perfectly  motionless,  for- 
bearing even  to  wink  till  my  eyes  smarted, 
the  bird  refused  to  go  on  with  his  work,  but 
flew  quietly  off  to  a  neighboring  tree.  What 
surprised  me  was,  that  amid  his  busy  oc- 
cupation down  in  the  heart  of  the  old  tree, 
he  should  have  been  so  alert  and  watchful 
as  to  catch  the  slightest  sound  from  without. 
The  woodpeckers  all  build  in  about  the 
same  manner,  excavating  the  trunk  or  branch 
of  a  decayed  tree,  and  depositing  the  eggs 
on  the  fine  fragments  of  wood  at  the  bottom 
of  the  cavity.  Though  the  nest  is  not  espe- 


BIRDS' -NES  TS.  129 

dally  an  artistic  work,  —  requiring  strength 
rather  than  skill,  —  yet  the  eggs  and  the 
young  of  few  other  birds  are  so  completely 
housed  from  the  elements,  or  protected  from 
their  natural  enemies  —  the  jays,  crows, 
hawks,  and  owls.  A  tree  with  a  natural  cav- 
ity is  never  selected,  but  one  which  has  been 
dead  just  long  enough  to  have  become  soft 
and  brittle  throughout.  The  bird  goes  in 
horizontally  for  a  few  inches,  making  a  hole 
perfectly  round  and  smooth  and  adapted  to 
his  size  ;  then  turns  downward,  gradually  en- 
larging the  hole,  as  he  proceeds,  to  the  depth 
of  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  inches,  according  to 
the  softness  of  the  tree  and  the  urgency  of 
the  mother  bird  to  deposit  her  eggs.  While 
excavating,  male  and  female  work  alter- 
nately. After  one  has  been  engaged  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes,  drilling  and  carrying  out 
chips,  it  ascends  to  an  upper  limb,  utters  a 
loud  call  or  two,  when  its  mate  soon  appears, 
and,  alighting  near  it  on  the  branch,  the 
pair  chatter  and  caress  a  moment ;  then  the 
fresh  one  enters  the  cavity  and  the  other 
flies  away. 

A  few  days  since,  I  climbed  up  to  the  nest 
of  the  downy  woodpecker,  in  the  decayed 
top  of  a  sugar-maple.  For  better  protection 


130  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

against  driving  rains,  the  hole,  which  was 
rather  more  than  an  inch  in  diameter,  was 
made  immediately  beneath  a  branch  which 
stretched  out  almost  horizontally  from  the 
main  stem.  It  appeared  merely  a  deeper 
shadow  upon  the  dark  and  mottled  surface 
of  the  bark  with  which  the  branches  were 
covered,  and  could  not  be  detected  by  the 
eye  until  one  was  within  a  few  feet  of  it. 
The  young  chirped  vociferously  as  I  ap- 
proached the  nest,  thinking  it  was  the  old 
one  with  food ;  but  the  clamor  suddenly 
ceased  as  I  put  my  hand  on  that  part  of  the 
trunk  in  which  they  were  concealed,  the  un- 
usual jarring  and  rustling  alarming  them 
into  silence.  The  cavity,  which  was  about 
fifteen  inches  deep,  was  gourd-shaped,  and 
was  wrought  out  with  great  skill  and  regu- 
larity. The  walls  were  quite  smooth  and 
clean  and  new. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  circumstance  of 
observing  a  pair  of  yellow-bellied  wood- 
peckers, —  the  most  rare  and  secluded,  and, 
next  to  the  red-headed,  the  most  beautiful 
species  found  in  our  woods,  —  breeding  in 
an  old,  truncated  beech  in  the  Beaverkill 
Mountains,  an  offshoot  of  the  Catskills.  We 
had  been  travelling,  three  of  us,  all  day  in 


BUtDS'-NESTS.  131 

search  of  a  trout  lake,  which  lay  far  in 
among  the  mountains,  had  twice  lost  our 
course  in  the  trackless  forest,  and,  weary 
and  hungry,  had  sat  down  to  rest  upon  a 
decayed  log.  The  chattering  of  the  young, 
and  the  passing  to  and  fro  of  the  parent 
birds,  soon  arrested  my  attention.  The  en- 
trance to  the  nest  was  on  the  east  side  of  the 
tree,  about  twenty-five  feet  from  the  ground. 
At  intervals  of  scarcely  a  minute,  the  old 
birds,  one  after  another,  would  alight  upon 
the  edge  of  the  hole  with  a  grub  or  worm  in 
their  beaks  ;  then  each  in  turn  would  make 
a  bow  or  two,  cast  an  eye  quickly  around, 
and  by  a  single  movement  place  itself  in  the 
neck  of  the  passage.  Here  it  would  pause 
a  moment,  as  if  to  determine  in  which  ex- 
pectant mouth  to  place  the  morsel,  and  then 
disappear  within.  In  about  half  a  minute, 
during  which  time  the  chattering  of  the 
young  gradually  subsided,  the  bird  would 
again  emerge,  but  this  time  bearing  in  its 
beak  the  ordure  of  one  of  the  helpless  fam- 
ily. Flying  away  very  slowly  with  head 
lowered  and  extended,  as  if  anxious  to  hold 
the  offensive  object  as  far  from  its  plumage 
as  possible,  the  bird  dropped  the  unsavory 
morsel  in  the  course  of  a  few  yards,  and, 


132  BIRDS'-N£ST8. 

alighting  on  a  tree,  wiped  its  bill  on  the 
bark  and  moss.  This  seems  to  be  the  order 
all  day,  —  carrying  in  and  carrying  out.  I 
watched  the  birds  for  an  hour,  while  my 
companions  were  taking  their  turn  in  explor- 
ing the  lay  of  the  land  around  us,  and  noted 
no  variation  in  the  programme.  It  would 
be  curious  to  know  if  the  young  are  fed  and 
waited  upon  in  regular  order,  and  how, 
amid  the  darkness  and  the  crowded  state  of 
the  apartment,  the  matter  is  so  neatly  man- 
aged. But  ornithologists  are  all  silent  upon 
the  subject. 

This  practice  of  the  birds  is  not  so  un- 
common as  it  might  at  first  seem.  It  is,  in- 
deed, almost  an  invariable  rule  among  all 
land  birds.  With  woodpeckers  and  kindred 
species,  and  with  birds  that  burrow  in  the 
ground,  as  bank  swallows,  kingfishers,  etc., 
it  is  a  necessity.  The  accumulation  of  the 
excrement  in  the  nest  would  prove  most 
fatal  to  the  young. 

But  even  among  birds  that  neither  bore 
nor  mine,  but  which  build  a  shallow  nest  on 
the  branch  of  a  tree  or  upon  the  ground,  as 
the  robin,  the  finches,  the  buntings,  etc.,  the 
ordure  of  the  young  is  removed  to  a  distance 
by  the  parent  bird.  When  the  robin  is  seen 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  133 

going  away  from  its  brood  with  a  slow,  heavy 
flight,  entirely  different  from  its  manner  a 
moment  before  on  approaching  the  nest  with 
a  cherry  or  worm,  it  is  certain  to  be  engaged 
in  this  office.  One  may  observe  the  social 
sparrow,  when  feeding  its  young,  pause  a 
moment  after  the  worm  has  been  given,  and 
hop  around  on  the  brink  of  the  nest,  observ- 
ing the  movements  within. 

The  instinct  of  cleanliness  no  doubt 
prompts  the  action  in  all  cases,  though  the 
disposition  to  secrecy  or  concealment  may 
not  be  unmixed  with  it. 

The  swallows  form  an  exception  to  the 
rule,  the  excrement  being  voided  by  the 
young  over  the  brink  of  the  nest.  They 
form  an  exception,  also,  to  the  rule  of  se- 
crecy, aiming  not  so  much  to  conceal  the 
nest  as  to  render  it  inaccessible. 

Other  exceptions  are  the  pigeons,  hawks, 
and  water-fowls. 

But  to  return.  Having  a  good  chance  to 
note  the  color  and  markings  of  the  wood- 
peckers as  they  passed  in  and  out  at  the 
opening  of  the  nest,  I  saw  that  Audubon  had 
made  a  mistake  in  figuring  or  describing  the 
female  of  this  species  with  the  red  spot  upon 
the  head.  I  have  seen  a  number  of  pairs 


134  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

of  them,  and  in  no  instance  have  I  seen  the 
mother  bird  marked  with  red. 

The  male  was  in  full  plumage,  and  I  re- 
luctantly shot  him  for  a  specimen.  Passing 
by  the  place  again  next  day,  I  paused  a  mo- 
ment to  note  how  matters  stood.  I  confess 
it  was  not  without  some  compunctions  that  I 
heard  the  cries  of  the  young  birds,  and  saw 
the  widowed  mother,  her  cares  now  doubled, 
hastening  to  and  fro  in  the  solitary  woods. 
She  would  occasionally  pause  expectantly  on 
the  trunk  of  a  tree,  and  utter  a  loud  call. 

It  usually  happens  when  the  male  of  any 
species  is  killed  during  the  breeding  season, 
that  the  female  soon  procures  another  mate. 
There  are,  most  likely,  always  a  few  unmated 
birds  of  both  sexes,  within  a  given  range, 
and  through  these  the  broken  links  may 
be  restored.  Audubon  or  Wilson,  I  forget 
which,  tells  of  a  pair  of  fish-hawks,  or  os- 
preys,  that  built  their  nest  in  an  ancient  oak. 
The  male  was  so  zealous  in  the  defence  of 
the  young  that  it  actually  attacked  with  beak 
and  claw  a  person  who  attempted  to  climb 
into  his  nest,  putting  his  face  and  eyes  in 
great  jeopardy.  Arming  himself  with  a 
heavy  club,  the  climber  felled  the  gallant 
bird  to  the  ground  and  killed  him.  In  the 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  135 

course  of  a  few  days,  the  female  had  pro- 
cured another  mate.  But  naturally  enough 
the  step-father  showed  none  of  the  spirit 
and  pluck  in  defence  of  the  brood  that 
had  been  displayed  by  the  original  parent. 
When  danger  was  nigh,  he  was  seen  afar  off, 
sailing  around  in  placid  unconcern. 

It  is  generally  known  that  when  either 
the  wild  turkey  or  domestic  turkey  begins 
to  lay,  and  afterwards  to  sit  and  rear  the 
brood,  she  secludes  herself  from  the  male, 
who  then,  very  sensibly,  herds  with  others 
of  his  sex,  and  betakes  himself  to  haunts  of 
his  own  till  male  and  female,  old  and  young, 
meet  again  on  common  ground,  late  in  the 
fall.  But  rob  the  sitting  bird  of  her  eggs, 
or  destroy  her  tender  young,  and  she  imme- 
diately sets  out  in  quest  of  a  male,  who  is 
no  laggard  when  he  hears  her  call.  The 
same  is  true  of  ducks  and  other  aquatic 
fowls.  The  propagating  instinct  is  strong, 
and  surmounts  all  ordinary  difficulties.  No 
doubt  the  widowhood  I  had  caused  in  the 
case  of  the  woodpeckers  was  of  short  dura- 
tion, and  chance  brought,  or  the  widow 
drummed  up,  some  forlorn  male,  who  was 
not  dismayed  by  the  prospect  of  having  a 
large  family  of  half-grown  birds  on  his 
hands  at  the  outset. 


136  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

I  have  seen  a  fine  cock  robin  paying 
assiduous  addresses  to  a  female  bird  as 
late  as  the  middle  of  July ;  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  his  intentions  were  honorable.  I 
watched  the  pair  for  half  an  hour.  The 
hen,  I  took  it,  was  in  the  market  for  the 
second  time  that  season ;  but  the  cock,  from 
his  bright,  unfaded  plumage,  looked  like  a 
new  arrival.  The  hen  resented  every  ad- 
vance of  the  male.  In  vain  he  strutted 
around  her  and  displayed  his  fine  feathers ; 
every  now  and  then  she  would  make  at  him 
in  a  most  spiteful  manner.  He  followed  her 
to  the  ground,  poured  into  her  ear  a  fine, 
half-suppressed  warble,  offered  her  a  worm, 
flew  back  to  the  tree  again  with  a  great 
spread  of  plumage,  hopped  around  her  on 
the  branches,  chirruped,  chattered,  flew  gal- 
lantly at  an  intruder,  and  was  back  in  an 
instant  at  her  side.  No  use,  —  she  cut  him 
short  at  every  turn. 

The  denouement  I  cannot  relate,  as  the 
artful  bird,  followed  by  her  ardent  suitor, 
soon  flew  away  beyond  my  sight.  It  may 
not  be  rash  to  conclude,  however,  that  she 
held  out  no  longer  than  was  prudent. 

On  the  whole,  there  seems  to  be  a  system 
of  Women's  Rights  prevailing  among  the 


SIRDS'-NESTS.  137 

birds,  which,  contemplated  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  male,  is  quite  admirable.  In 
almost  all  cases  of  joint  interest,  the  female 
bird  is  the  most  active.  She  determines  the 
site  of  the  nest,  and  is  usually  the  most  ab- 
sorbed in  its  construction.  Generally,  she  is 
more  vigilant  in  caring  for  the  young,  and 
manifests  the  most  concern  when  danger 
threatens.  Hour  after  hour  I  have  seen  the 
mother  of  a  brood  of  blue  grossbeaks  pass 
from  the  nearest  meadow  to  the  tree  that 
held  her  nest,  with  a  cricket  or  grasshopper 
in  her  bill,  while  her  better-dressed  half  was 
singing  serenely  on  a  distant  tree  or  pursuing 
his  pleasure  amid  the  branches. 

Yet  among  the  majority  of  our  song  birds, 
the  male  is  most  conspicuous  both  by  his 
color  and  manners  and  by  his  song,  and  is  to 
that  extent  a  shield  to  the  female.  It  is 
thought  that  the  female  is  humbler  clad  for 
her  better  concealment  during  incubation. 
But  this  is  not  satisfactory,  as  in  some  cases 
she  is  relieved  from  time  to  time  by  the  male. 
In  the  case  of  the  domestic  dove,  for  instance, 
promptly  at  midday  the  cock  is  found  upon 
the  nest.  I  should  say  that  the  dull  or  neu- 
tral tints  of  the  female  were  a  provision  of 
nature  for  her  greater  safety  at  all  times,  as 


138  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

her  life  is  far  more  precious  to  the  species 
than  that  of  the  male.  The  indispensable 
office  of  the  male  reduces  itself  to  little  more 
than  a  moment  of  time,  while  that  of  his 
mate  extends  over  days  and  weeks,  if  not 
months.1 

In  migrating  northward,  the  males  pre- 
cede the  females  by  eight  or  ten  days ;  re- 
turning in  the  fall,  the  females  and  young 
precede  the  males  by  about  the  same  time. 

After  the  woodpeckers  have  abandoned 
their  nests,  or  rather  chambers,  which  they 
do  after  the  first  season,  their  cousins,  the 
nut-hatches,  chickadees,  and  brown  creepers, 
fall  heir  to  them.  These  birds,  especially 
the  creepers  and  nut-hatches,  have  many  of 
the  habits  of  the  picidce,  but  lack  their  pow- 

1  A  recent  English  writer  upon  this  subject  presents  an 
array  of  facts  and  considerations  that  do  not  support  this  view. 
He  says  that,  with  very  few  exceptions,  it  is  the  rule  that, 
when  both  sexes  are  of  strikingly  gay  and  conspicuous  colors, 
the  nest  is  such  as  to  conceal  the  sitting  bird ;  while,  when- 
ever there  is  a  striking  contrast  of  colors,  the  male  being  gay 
and  conspicuous,  the  female  dull  and  obscure,  the  nest  is  open, 
and  the  sitting  bird  exposed  to  view.  The  exceptions  to  this 
rule  among  European  birds  appear  to  be  very  few.  Among 
our  own  birds,  the  cuckoos  and  blue-jays  build  open  nests, 
without  presenting  any  noticeable  difference  in  the  coloring 
of  the  two  sexes.  The  same  is  true  of  the  pewees,  the  king- 
bird, and  the  sparrows,  while  the  common  bluebird,  the  ori- 
ole, and  orchard  starling  afford  examples  the  other  way. 


BISDS'-NESTB.  139 

ers  of  bill,  and  so  are  unable  to  excavate  a 
nest  for  themselves.  Their  habitation,  there- 
fore, is  always  second-hand.  But  each  spe- 
cies carries  in  some  soft  material  of  various 
kinds,  or,  in  other  words,  furnishes  the  tene- 
ment to  its  liking.  The  chickadee  arranges 
in  the  bottom  of  the  cavity  a  little  mat  of  a 
light,  felt-like  substance,  which  looks  as  if  it 
came  from  the  hatter's,  but  which  is  proba- 
bly the  work  of  numerous  worms  or  cater- 
pillars. On  this  soft  lining  the  female  de- 
posits six  white  eggs. 

I  recently  discovered  one  of  these  nests  in 
a  most  interesting  situation.  The  tree  con- 
taining it,  a  variety  of  the  wild  cherry,  stood 
upon  the  brink  of  the  bald  summit  of  a  high 
mountain.  Gray,  time-worn  rocks  lay  piled 
loosely  about,  or  overtoppled  the  just  visible 
by-ways  of  the  red  fox.  The  trees  had  a 
half -scared  look,  and  that  indescribable  wild- 
ness  which  lurks  about  the  tops  of  all  remote 
mountains  possessed  the  place.  Standing 
there,  I  looked  down  upon  the  back  of  the 
red-tailed  hawk  as  he  flew  out  over  the  earth 
beneath  me.  Following  him,  my  eye  also 
took  in  farms,  and  settlements,  and  villages, 
and  other  mountain  ranges  that  grew  blue 
in  the  distance. 


140  BI.RVS'-NESTS. 

The  parent  birds  attracted  my  attention 
by  appearing  with  food  in  their  beaks,  and 
by  seeming  much  put  out.  Yet  so  wary  were 
they  of  revealing  the  locality  of  their  brood, 
or  even  of  the  precise  tree  that  held  them, 
that  I  lurked  around  over  an  hour  without 
gaining  a  point  on  them.  Finally  a  bright 
and  curious  boy  who  accompanied  me  se- 
creted himself  under  a  low,  projecting  rock 
close  to  the  tree  in  which  we  supposed  the 
nest  to  be,  while  I  moved  off  around  the 
mountain-side.  It  was  not  long  before  the 
youth  had  their  secret.  The  tree,  which  was 
low  and  wide  branching,  and  overrun  with 
lichens,  appeared  at  a  cursory  glance  to  con- 
tain not  one  dry  or  decayed  limb.  Yet  there 
was  one  a  few  feet  long,  in  which,  when  my 
eyes  were  piloted  thither,  I  detected  a  small 
round  orifice. 

As  my  weight  began  to  shake  the  branches, 
the  consternation  of  both  old  and  young  was 
great.  The  stump  of  a  limb  that  held  the 
nest  was  about  three  inches  thick,  and  at  the 
bottom  of  the  tunnel  was  excavated  quite  to 
the  bark.  "With  my  thumb  I  broke  in  the 
thin  wall,  and  the  young,  which  were  full- 
fledged,  looked  out  upon  the  world  for  the 
first  time.  Presently  one  of  them,  with  a 


EIRDS'-NJESTS.  141 

significant  chirp,  as  much  as  to  say,  "It  is 
time  we  were  out  of  this,"  began  to  climb  up 
toward  the  proper  entrance.  Placing  him- 
self in  the  hole,  he  looked  around  without 
manifesting  any  surprise  at  the  grand  scene 
that  lay  spread  out  before  him.  He  was 
taking  his  bearings  and  determining  how  far 
he  could  trust  the  power  of  his  untried  wings 
to  take  him  out  of  harm's  way.  After  a 
moment's  pause,  with  a  loud  chirrup,  he 
launched  out,  and  made  tolerable  headway. 
The  others  rapidly  followed.  Each  one,  as 
it  started  upward,  from  a  sudden  impulse, 
contemptuously  saluted  the  abandoned  nest 
with  its  excrement. 

Though  generally  regular  in  their  habits 
and  instincts,  yet  the  birds  sometimes  seem 
as  whimsical  and  capricious  as  superior  be- 
ings. One  is  not  safe,  for  instance,  in  mak- 
ing any  absolute  assertion  as  to  their  place 
or  mode  of  building.  Ground  builders  often 
get  up  into  a  bush,  and  tree  builders  some- 
times get  upon  the  ground  or  into  a  tussock 
of  grass.  The  song  -  sparrow,  which  is  a 
ground  builder,  has  been  known  to  build  in 
the  knot-hole  of  a  fence  rail,  and  a  chimney 
swallow  once  got  tired  of  soot  and  smoke, 
and  fastened  its  nest  on  a  rafter  in  a  hay 


142  ErJIDS'-NESTS. 

barn.  A  friend  tells  me  of  a  pair  of  barn 
swallows  which,  taking  a  fanciful  turn,  sad- 
dled their  nest  in  the  loop  of  a  rope  that  was 
pendent  from  a  peg  in  the  peak,  and  liked 
it  so  well  that  they  repeated  the  experiment 
next  year.  I  have  known  the  social  sparrow, 
or  "hair  bird,"  to  build  under  a  shed,  in 
a  tuft  of  hay  that  hung  down,  through  the 
loose  flooring,  from  the  mow  above.  It 
usually  contents  itself  with  half  a  dozen 
stalks  of  dry  grass  and  a  few  long  hairs  from 
a  cow's  tail,  loosely  arranged  on  the  branch 
of  an  apple-tree.  The  rough-winged  swal- 
low builds  in  the  wall  and  in  old  stone  heaps, 
and  I  have  seen  the  robin  build  in  similar 
localities.  Others  have  found  its  nest  in  old, 
abandoned  wells.  The  house  wren  will  build 
in  anything  that  has  an  accessible  cavity, 
from  an  old  boot  to  a  bombshell.  A  pair  of 
them  once  persisted  in  building  their  nest  in 
the  top  of  a  certain  pump-tree,  getting  in 
through  the  opening  above  the  handle.  The 
pump  being  in  daily  use,  the  nest  was  de- 
stroyed more  than  a  score  of  times.  This 
jealous  little  wretch  has  the  wise  forethought, 
when  the  box  in  which  he  builds  contains 
two  compartments,  to  fill  up  one  of  them,  so 
as  to  avoid  the  risk  of  troublesome  neigh- 
bors. 


£IRDS'-NEST8.  143 

The  less  skilful  builders  sometimes  depart 
from  their  usual  habit,  and  take  up  with  the 
abandoned  nest  of  some  other  species.  The 
blue-jay  now  and  then  lays  in  an  old  crow's- 
nest  or  cuckoo's-nest.  The  crow-blackbird, 
seized  with  a  fit  of  indolence,  drops  its  eggs 
in  the  cavity  of  a  decayed  branch.  I  heard 
of  a  cuckoo  that  dispossessed  a  robin  of  its 
nest ;  of  another  that  set  a  blue-jay  adrift. 
Large,  loose  structures,  like  the  nests  of  the 
osprey  and  certain  of  the  herons,  have  been 
found  with  half  a  dozen  nests  of  the  black- 
bird set  in  the  outer  edges,  like  so  many  par- 
asites, or,  as  Audubon  says,  like  the  retain- 
ers about  the  rude  court  of  a  feudal  baron. 

The  same  birds  breeding  in  a  southern 
climate  construct  far  less  elaborate  nests 
than  when  breeding  in  a  northern  climate. 
Certain  species  of  water-fowl  that  abandon 
their  eggs  to  the  sand  and  the  sun  in  the 
warmer  zones,  build  a  nest  and  sit  in  the 
usual  way  in  Labrador.  In  Georgia,  the 
Baltimore  oriole  places  its  nest  upon  the 
north  side  of  the  tree ;  in  the  Middle  and 
Eastern  States,  it  fixes  it  upon  the  south  or 
east  side,  and  makes  it  much  thicker  and 
warmer.  I  have  seen  one  from  the  South 
that  had  some  kind  of  coarse  reed  or  sedge 


144  BIKDS'-XESTS. 

woven  into  it,  giving  it  an  open  work  ap- 
pearance, like  a  basket. 

Very  few  species  use  the  same  material 
uniformly.  I  have  seen  the  nest  of  the  robin 
quite  destitute  of  mud.  In  one  instance,  it 
was  composed  mainly  of  long,  black  horse- 
hairs, arranged  in  a  circular  manner,  with  a 
lining  of  fine  yellow  grass ;  the  whole  pre- 
senting quite  a  novel  appearance.  In  an- 
other case,  the  nest  was  chiefly  constructed 
of  a  species  of  rock  moss. 

The  nest  for  the  second  brood  during  the 
same  season  is  often  a  mere  make-shift.  The 
haste  of  the  female  to  deposit  her  eggs  as 
the  season  advances  seems  very  great,  and 
the  structure  is  apt  to  be  prematurely  fin- 
ished. I  was  recently  reminded  of  this  fact 
by  happening,  about  the  last  of  July,  to 
meet  with  several  nests  of  the  wood  or  bush 
sparrow  in  a  remote  blackberry  field.  The 
nests  with  eggs  were  far  less  elaborate  and 
compact  than  the  earlier  nests,  from  which 
the  young  had  flown. 

Day  after  day,  as  I  go  to  a  certain  piece 
of  woods,  I  observe  a  male  indigo-bird  sit- 
ting on  precisely  the  same  part  of  a  high 
branch,  and  singing  in  his  most  vivacious 
style.  As  I  approach,  he  ceases  to  sing, 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  145 

and,  flirting  his  tail  right  and  left  with 
marked  emphasis,  chirps  sharply.  In  a  low 
bush  near  by,  I  come  upon  the  object  of  his 
solicitude,  a  thick,  compact  nest,  composed 
largely  of  dry  leaves  and  fine  grass,  in  which 
a  plain  brown  bird  is  sitting  upon  four  pale 
blue  eggs. 

The  wonder  is,  that  a  bird  will  leave  the 
apparent  security  of  the  tree-tops,  to  place 
its  nest  in  the  way  of  the  many  dangers  that 
walk  and  crawl  upon  the  ground.  There, 
far  up  out  of  reach,  sings  the  bird ;  here,  not 
three  feet  from  the  ground,  are  its  eggs  or 
helpless  young.  The  truth  is,  birds  are  the 
greatest  enemies  of  birds,  and  it  is  with  ref- 
erence to  this  fact  that  many  of  the  smaller 
species  build. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  proportion  of  birds 
breed  along  highways.  I  have  known  the 
ruffed  grouse  to  come  out  of  a  dense  wood 
and  make  its  nest  at  the  root  of  a  tree  within 
ten  paces  of  the  road,  where,  no  doubt,  hawks 
and  crows,  as  well  as  skunks  and  foxes, 
would  be  less  liable  to  find  it  out.  Travers- 
ing remote  mountain-roads  through  dense 
woods,  I  have  repeatedly  seen  the  veery,  or 
Wilson's  thrush,  sitting  upon  her  nest,  so 
near  me  that  I  could  almost  take  her  from  it 


146  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

by  stretching  out  my  hand.  Birds  of  prey 
show  none  of  this  confidence  in  man,  and, 
when  locating  their  nests,  avoid  rather  than 
seek  his  haunts. 

In  a  certain  locality  in  the  interior  of  New 
York,  I  know,  every  season,  where  I  am 
sure  to  find  a  nest  or  two  of  the  slate-colored 
snow-bird.  It  is  under  the  brink  of  a  low, 
mossy  bank,  so  near  the  highway  that  it 
could  be  reached  from  a  passing  vehicle  with 
a  whip.  Every  horse  or  wagon  or  foot  pas- 
senger disturbs  the  sitting  bird.  She  awaits 
the  near  approach  of  the  sound  of  feet  or 
wheels,  and  then  darts  quickly  across  the 
road,  barely  clearing  the  ground,  and  dis- 
appears amid  the  bushes  on  the  opposite 
side. 

In  the  trees  that  line  one  of  the  main 
streets  and  fashionable  drives  leading  out  of 
Washington  city,  and  less  than  half  a  mile 
from  the  boundary,  I  have  counted  the 
nests  of  five  different  species  at  one  time, 
and  that  without  any  very  close  scrutiny  of. 
the  foliage,  while  in  many  acres  of  woodland, 
half  a  mile  off,  I  searched  in  vain  for  a  sin- 
gle nest.  Among  the  five  that  interested  me 
most  was  that  of  the  blue  grossbeak.  Here 
this  bird,  which,  according  to  Audubon's 


BIRD&-NEST8.  147 

observations,  in  Louisiana  is  shy  and  re- 
cluse, affecting  remote  marshes  and  the  bor- 
ders of  large  ponds  of  stagnant  water,  had 
placed  its  nest  in  the  lowest  twig  of  the  low- 
est branch  of  a  large  sycamore,  immediately 
over  a  great  thoroughfare,  and  so  near  the 
ground  that  a  person  standing  in  a  cart  or 
sitting  on  a  horse  could  have  reached  it  with 
his  hand.  The  nest  was  composed  mainly 
of  fragments  of  newspaper  and  stalks  of 
grass,  and,  though  so  low,  was  remarkably 
well  concealed  by  one  of  the  peculiar  clus- 
ters of  twigs  and  leaves  which  characterize 
this  tree.  The  nest  contained  young  when 
I  discovered  it,  and  though  the  parent  birds 
were  much  annoyed  by  my  loitering  about 
beneath  the  tree,  they  paid  little  attention  to 
the  stream  of  vehicles  that  was  constantly 
passing.  It  was  a  wonder  to  me  when  the 
birds  could  have  built  it,  for  they  are  much 
shyer  when  building  than  at  other  times.  No 
doubt  they  worked  mostly  in  the  morning, 
having  the  early  hours  all  to  themselves. 

Another  pair  of  blue  grossbeaks  built  in 
a  graveyard  within  the  city  limits.  The 
nest  was  placed  in  a  low  bush,  and  the  male 
continued  to  sing  at  intervals  till  the  young 
were  ready  to  fly.  The  song  of  this  bird  is 


148  EIRDS'-NESTS. 

a  rapid,  intricate  warble,  like  that  of  the 
indigo-bird,  though  stronger  and  louder.  In- 
deed, these  two  birds  so  much  resemble  each 
other  in  color,  form,  manner,  voice,  and  gen- 
eral habits  that,  were  it  not  for  the  differ- 
ence in  size,  —  the  grossbeak  being  nearly 
as  large  again  as  the  indigo-bird,  —  it  would 
be  a  hard  matter  to  tell  them  apart.  The 
females  of  both  species  are  clad  in  the  same 
reddish-brown  suits.  So  are  the  young  the 
first  season. 

Of  course  in  the  deep,  primitive  woods 
also  are  nests,  but  how  rarely  we  find  them ! 
The  simple  art  of  the  bird  consists  in  choos- 
ing common,  neutral-tinted  material,  as  moss, 
dry  leaves,  twigs,  and  various  odds  and  ends, 
and  placing  the  structure  on  a  convenient 
branch,  where  it  blends  in  color  with  its 
surroundings  ;  but  how  consummate  is  this 
art,  and  how  skilfully  is  the  nest  concealed  ! 
We  occasionally  light  upon  it,  but  who,  un- 
aided by  the  movements  of  the  bird,  could 
find  it  out?  During  the  present  season,  I 
went  to  the  woods  nearly  every  day  for  a  fort- 
night, without  making  any  discoveries  of  this 
kind,  till  one  day,  paying  them  a  farewell 
visit,  I  chanced  to  come  upon  several  nests. 
A  black  and  white  creeping  warbler  suddenly 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  149 

became  much  alarmed  as  I  approached  a 
crumbling  old  stump  in  a  dense  part  of  the 
forest.  He  alighted  upon  it,  chirped  sharply, 
ran  up  and  down  its  sides,  and  finally  left  it 
with  much  reluctance.  The  nest,  which  con- 
tained three  young  birds  nearly  fledged,  was 
placed  upon  the  ground,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stump,  and  in  such  a  position  that  the  color 
of  the  young  harmonized  perfectly  with  the 
bits  of  bark,  sticks,  etc.,  lying  about.  My 
eye  rested  upon  them  for  the  second  time 
before  I  made  them  out.  They  hugged  the 
nest  very  closely,  but  as  I  put  down  my 
hand  they  scampered  off  with  loud  cries  for 
help,  which  caused  the  parent  birds  to  place 
themselves  almost  within  my  reach.  The 
nest  was  merely  a  little  dry  grass  arranged 
in  a  thick  bed  of  dry  leaves. 

This  was  amid  a  thick  undergrowth.  Mov- 
ing on  into  a  passage  of  large,  stately  hem- 
locks, with  only  here  and  there  a  small  beech 
or  maple  rising  up  into  the  perennial  twi- 
light, I  paused  to  make  out  a  note  which  was 
entirely  new  to  me.  It  is  still  in  my  ear. 
Though  unmistakably  a  bird  note,  it  yet 
suggested  the  bleating  of  a  tiny  lambkin. 
Presently  the  birds  appeared,  —  a  pair  of 
the  solitary  vireo.  They  came  flitting  from 


150  BIRDS'-NESTS. 

point  to  point,  alighting  only  for  a  moment 
at  a  time,  the  male  silent,  but  the  female  ut- 
tering this  strange,  tender  note.  It  was  a 
rendering  into  some  new  sylvan  dialect  of 
the  human  sentiment  of  maidenly  love.  It 
was  really  pathetic  in  its  sweetness  and 
childlike  confidence  and  joy.  I  soon  dis- 
covered that  the  pair  were  building  a  nest 
upon  a  low  branch  a  few  yards  from  me. 
The  male  flew  cautiously  to  the  spot,  and 
adjusted  something,  and  the  twain  moved 
on,  the  female  calling  to  her  mate  at  inter- 
vals, love~e,  love-e,  with  a  cadence  and  ten- 
derness in  the  tone  that  rang  in  the  ear  long 
afterward.  The  nest  was  suspended  to  the 
fork  of  a  small  branch,  as  is  usual  with  the 
vireos,  plentifully  lined  with  lichens,  and 
bound  and  rebound  with  masses  of  coarse 
spider-webs.  There  was  no  attempt  at  con- 
cealment except  in  the  neutral  tints,  which 
made  it  look  like  a  natural  growth  of  the 
dim,  gray  woods. 

Continuing  my  random  walk,  I  next  paused 
in  a  low  part  of  the  woods,  where  the  larger 
trees  began  to  give  place  to  a  thick  second- 
growth  that  covered  an  old  Bark-peeling.  I 
was  standing  by  a  large  maple,  when  a  small 
bird  darted  quickly  away  from  it,  as  if  it 


£IRD8'-NESTS.  151 

might  have  come  out  of  a  hole  near  its  base. 
As  the  bird  paused  a  few  yards  from  me, 
and  began  to  chirp  uneasily,  my  curiosity 
was  at  once  excited.  When  I  saw  it  was 
the  female  mourning  ground  warbler,  and  re- 
membered that  the  nest  of  this  bird  had  not 
yet  been  seen  by  any  naturalist,  —  that  not 
even  Dr.  Brewer  had  ever  seen  the  eggs,  — 
I  felt  that  here  was  something  worth  looking 
for.  So  I  carefully  began  the  search,  ex- 
ploring inch  by  inch  the  ground,  the  base  and 
roots  of  the  tree,  and  the  various  shrubby 
growths  about  it,  till,  finding  nothing,  and 
fearing  I  might  really  put  my  foot  in  it,  I 
bethought  me  to  withdraw  to  a  distance  and 
after  some  delay  return  again,  and,  thus  fore- 
warned, note  the  exact  point  from  which  the 
bird  flew.  This  I  did,  and,  returning,  had 
little  difficulty  in  discovering  the  nest.  It 
was  placed  but  a  few  feet  from  the  maple- 
tree,  in  a  bunch  of  ferns,  and  about  six 
inches  from  the  ground.  It  was  quite  a 
massive  nest,  composed  entirely  of  the  stalks 
and  leaves  of  dry  grass,  with  an  inner  lining 
of  fine,  dark-brown  roots.  The  eggs,  three  in 
number,  were  of  light  flesh  color,  uniformly 
specked  with  fine  brown  specks.  The  cavity 
of  the  nest  was  so  deep  that  the  back  of  the 
sitting  bird  sank  below  the  edge. 


152  BIRDS' -NESTS. 

In  the  top  of  a  tall  tree,  a  short  distance 
farther  on,  I  saw  the  nest  of  the  red-tailed 
hawk,  —  a  large  mass  of  twigs  and  dry 
sticks.  The  young  had  flown,  but  still  lin- 
gered in  the  vicinity,  and,  as  I  approached, 
the  mother  bird  flew  about  over  me,  squeal- 
ing in  a  very  angry,  savage  manner.  Tufts 
of  the  hair  and  other  indigestible  material 
of  the  common  meadow  mouse  lay  around 
on  the  ground  beneath  the  nest. 

As  I  was  about  leaving  the  woods,  my  hat 
almost  brushed  the  nest  of  the  red-eyed 
vireo,  which  hung  basket-like  on  the  end  of 
a  low,  drooping  branch  of  the  beech.  I 
should  never  have  seen  it  had  the  bird  kept 
her  place.  It  contained  three  eggs  of  the 
bird's  own,  and  one  of  the  cow-bunting.  The 
strange  egg  was  only  just  perceptibly  larger 
than  the  others,  yet  three  days  after,  when 
I  looked  into  the  nest  again  and  found  all 
but  one  egg  hatched,  the  young  interloper 
was  at  least  four  times  as  large  as  either  of 
the  others,  and  with  such  a  superabundance 
of  bowels  as  to  almost  smother  his  bedfel- 
lows beneath  them.  That  the  intruder  should 
fare  the  same  as  the  rightful  occupants,  and 
thrive  with  them,  was  more  than  ordinary 
potluck ;  but  that  it  alone  should  thrive, 


BIRD&-NESTS.  153 

devouring,  as  it  were,  all  the  rest,  is  one  of 
those  freaks  of  Nature  in  which  she  would 
seem  to  discourage  the  homely  virtues  of 
prudence  and  honesty.  Weeds  and  para- 
sites have  the  odds  greatly  against  them, 
yet  they  wage  a  very  successful  war  never- 
theless. 

The  woods  hold  not  such  another  gem  as 
the  nest  of  the  humming-bird.  The  finding 
of  one  is  an  event  to  date  from.  It  is  the 
next  best  thing  to  finding  an  eagle's  nest. 
I  have  met  with  but  two,  both  by  chance. 
One  was  placed  on  the  horizontal  branch  of 
a  chestnut-tree,  with  a  solitary  green  leaf, 
forming  a  complete  canopy,  about  an  inch 
and  a  half  above  it.  The  repeated  spiteful 
dartings  of  the  bird  past  my  ears,  as  I  stood 
under  the  tree,  caused  me  to  suspect  that  I 
was  intruding  upon  some  one's  privacy ;  and 
following  it  with  my  eye,  I  soon  saw  the 
nest,  which  was  in  process  of  construction. 
Adopting  my  usual  tactics  of  secreting  my- 
self near  by,  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
the  tiny  artist  at  work.  It  was  the  female, 
unassisted  by  her  mate.  At  intervals  of  two 
or  three  minutes  she  would  appear  with  a 
small  tuft  of  some  cottony  substance  in  her 
beak,  dart  a  few  times  through  and  around 


154  £fRDS'-N£8T8. 

the  tree,  and  alighting  quickly  in  the  nest 
arrange  the  material  she  had  brought,  using 
her  breast  as  a  model. 

The  other  nest  I  discovered  in  a  dense 
forest  on  the  side  of  a  mountain.  The  sit- 
ting bird  was  disturbed  as  I  passed  beneath 
her.  The  whirring  of  her  wings  arrested 
my  attention,  when,  after  a  short  pause,  I 
had  the  good  luck  to  see,  through  an  opening 
in  the  leaves,  the  bird  return  to  her  nest, 
which  appeared  like  a  mere  wart  or  excres- 
cence on  a  small  branch.  The  humming- 
bird, unlike  all  others,  does  not  alight  upon 
the  nest,  but  flies  into  it.  She  enters  it  as 
quick  as  a  flash,  but  as  light  as  any  feather. 
Two  eggs  are  the  complement.  They  are 
perfectly  white,  and  so  frail  that  only  a  wo- 
man's fingers  may  touch  them.  Incubation 
lasts  about  ten  days.  In  a  week  the  young 
have  flown. 

The  only  nest  like  the  humming-bird's, 
and  comparable  to  it  in  neatness  and  sym- 
metry, is  that  of  the  blue-gray  gnat-oatcher. 
This  is  often  saddled  upon  the  limb  in  the 
same  manner,  though  it  is  generally  more  or 
less  pendent ;  it  is  deep  and  soft,  composed 
mostly  of  some  vegetable  down,  covered  all 
over  with  delicate  tree-lichens,  and,  except 


SIRDS'-NESTS.  155 

that  it  is  much  larger,  appears  almost  iden- 
tical with  the  nest  of  the  humming-bird. 

But  the  nest  of  nests,  the  ideal  nest,  after 
we  have  left  the  deep  woods,  is  unquestion- 
ably that  of  the  Baltimore  oriole.  It  is  the 
only  perfectly  pensile  nest  we  have.  The 
nest  of  the  orchard  oriole  is  indeed  mainly 
so,  but  this  bird  generally  builds  lower  and 
shallower,  more  after  the  manner  of  the 
vireos. 

The  Baltimore  oriole  loves  to  attach  its 
nest  to  the  swaying  branches  of  the  tallest 
elms,  making  no  attempt  at  concealment,  but 
satisfied  if  the  position  be  high  and  the 
branch  pendent.  This  nest  would  seem  to 
cost  more  time  and  skill  than  any  other  bird 
structure.  A  peculiar  flax-like  substance 
seems  to  be  always  sought  after,  and  always 
found.  The  nest  when  completed  assumes 
the  form  of  a  large,  suspended  gourd.  The 
walls  are  thin  but  firm,  and  proof  against  the 
most  driving  rain.  The  mouth  is  hemmed 
or  overhanded  with  horse-hair,  and  the  sides 
are  usually  sewed  through  and  through  with 
the  same. 

Not  particular  as  to  the  matter  of  secrecy, 
the  bird  is  not  particular  as  to  material,  so 
that  it  be  of  the  nature  of  strings  or  threads. 


156  EIRDS'-NESTS. 

A  lady  friend  once  told  me  that  while  work- 
ing by  an  open  window,  one  of  these  birds 
approached  during  her  momentary  absence, 
and,  seizing  a  skein  of  some  kind  of  thread 
or  yarn,  made  off  with  it  to  its  half -finished 
nest.  But  the  perverse  yarn  caught  fast  in 
the  branches,  and,  in  the  bird's  efforts  to 
extricate  it,  got  hopelessly  tangled.  She 
tugged  away  at  it  all  day,  but  was  finally 
obliged  to  content  herself  with  a  few  de- 
tached portions.  The  fluttering  strings  were 
an  eye-sore  to  her  ever  after,  and  passing 
and  repassing,  she  would  give  them  a  spite- 
ful jerk,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  There  is  that 
confounded  yarn  that  gave  me  so  much 
trouble." 

From  Pennsylvania,  Vincent  Barnard  (to 
whom  I  am  indebted  for  other  curious  facts) 
sent  me  this  interesting  stoiy  of  an  oriole. 
He  says  a  friend  of  his,  curious  in  such 
things,  on  observing  the  bird  beginning  to 
build,  hung  out  near  the  prospective  nest 
skeins  of  many-colored  zephyr-yarn,  which 
the  eager  artist  readily  appropriated.  He 
managed  it  so  that  the  bird  used  nearly 
equal  quantities  of  various  high,  bright 
colors.  The  nest  was  made  unusually  deep 
and  capacious,  and  it  may  be  questioned  if 


SISDS'-NESTS.  157 

such  a  thing  of  beauty  was  ever  before  woven 
by  the  cunning  of  a  bird. 

Nuttall,  by  far  the  most  genial  of  Ameri- 
can ornithologists,  relates  the  following :  — 

"  A  female  (oriole),  which  I  observed  at- 
tentively, carried  off  to  her  nest  a  piece  of 
lamp-wick  ten  or  twelve  feet  long.  This 
long  string  and  many  other  shorter  ones 
were  left  hanging  out  for  about  a  week 
before  both  the  ends  were  wattled  into  the 
sides  of  the  nest.  Some  other  little  birds 
making  use  of  similar  materials,  at  times 
twitched  these  flowing  ends,  and  generally 
brought  out  the  busy  Baltimore  from  her 
occupation  in  great  anger. 

"  I  may  perhaps  claim  indulgence  for 
adding  a  little  more  of  the  biography  of  this 
particular  bird,  as  a  representative,  also,  of 
the  instincts  of  her  race.  She  completed 
the  nest  in  about  a  week's  time,  without  any 
aid  from  her  mate,  who,  indeed,  appeared 
but  seldom  in  her  company,  and  was  now 
become  nearly  silent.  For  fibrous  materials 
she  broke,  hackled,  and  gathered  the  flax  of 
the  asclepias  and  hibiscus  stalks,  tearing  off 
long  strings  and  flying  with  them  to  the  scene 
of  her  labors.  She  appeared  very  eager  and 
hasty  in  her  pursuits,  and  collected  her  ma/- 


158  BIRD&-NE8TS. 

terials  without  fear  or  restraint,  while  three 
men  were  working  in  the  neighboring  walks, 
and  many  persons  visiting  the  garden. 
Her  courage  and  perseverance  were  indeed 
truly  admirable.  If  watched  too  narrowly, 
she  saluted  with  her  usual  scolding,  tshrr, 
tshrr,  tshrr,  seeing  no  reason,  probably,  why 
she  should  be  interrupted  in  her  indispensa- 
ble occupation. 

"  Though  the  males  were  now  compara- 
tively silent  on  the  arrival  of  their  busy 
mates,  I  could  not  help  observing  this  fe- 
male and  a  second,  continually  vociferating, 
apparently  in  strife.  At  last  she  was  ob- 
served to  attack  this  second  female  very 
fiercely,  who  slyly  intruded  herself  at  times 
into  the  same  tree  where  she  was  building. 
These  contests  were  angry  and  often  re- 
peated. To  account  for  this  animosity,  I 
now  recollected  that  two  fine  males  had  been 
killed  in  our  vicinity ;  and  I  therefore  con- 
cluded the  intruder  to  be  left  without  a  mate ; 
yet  she  had  gained  the  affections  of  the  con- 
sort of  the  busy  female,  and  thus  the  cause 
of  their  jealous  quarrel  became  apparent. 
Having  obtained  the  confidence  of  her 
faithless  paramour,  the  second  female  began 
preparing  to  weave  a  nest  in  an  adjoining 


BIRDS'-NESTS.  159 

elm,  by  tying  together  certain  pendent  twigs 
as  a  foundation.  The  male  now  associated 
chiefly  with  the  intruder,  whom  he  even  as- 
sisted in  her  labor,  yet  did  not  wholly  forget 
his  first  partner,  who  called  on  him  one  even- 
ing in  a  low,  affectionate  tone,  which  was  an- 
swered in  the  same  strain.  While  they  were 
thus  engaged  in  friendly  whispers,  suddenly 
appeared  the  rival,  and  a  violent  rencontre 
ensued,  so  that  one  of  the  females  appeared 
to  be  greatly  agitated,  and  fluttered  with 
spreading  wings  as  if  considerably  hurt. 
The  male,  though  prudently  neutral  in  the 
contest,  showed  his  culpable  partiality  by 
flying  off  with  his  paramour,  and  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening  left  the  tree  to  his  pug- 
nacious consort.  Cares  of  another  kind, 
more  imperious  and  tender,  at  length  recon- 
ciled, or  at  least  terminated,  these  disputes 
with  the  jealous  females ;  and  by  the  aid  of 
the  neighboring  bachelors,  who  are  never 
wanting  among  these  and  other  birds,  peace 
was  at  length  completely  restored,  by  the 
restitution  of  the  quiet  and  happy  condition 
of  monogamy." 

Let  me  not  forget  to  mention  the  nest 
under  the  mountain  ledge,  the  nest  of  the 
common  pewee,  a  modest  mossy  structure, 


160  BIRES'-NESTS. 

with  four  pearl-white  eggs,  looking  out  upon 
some  wild  scene  and  overhung  by  beetling 
crags.  After  all  has  been  said  about  the 
elaborate,  high-hung  structures,  few  nests, 
perhaps,  awaken  more  pleasant  emotions  in 
the  mind  of  the  beholder  than  this  of  the 
pewee,  —  the  gray,  silent  rocks,  with  caverns 
and  dens  where  the  fox  and  the  wolf  lurk, 
and  just  out  of  their  reach,  in  a  little  niche, 
as  if  it  grew  there,  the  mossy  tenement ! 

Nearly  every  high  projecting  rock  in  my 
range  has  one  of  these  nests.  Following  a 
trout  stream  up  a  wild  mountain  gorge,  not 
long  since,  I  counted  five  in  the  distance  of 
a  mile,  all  within  easy  reach,  but  safe  from 
the  minks  and  the  skunks,  and  well  housed 
from  the  storms.  In  my  native  town  I  know 
a  pine  and  oak  clad  hill,  round-topped,  with 
a  bold,  precipitous  front  extending  half-way 
around  it.  Near  the  top,  and  along  this 
front  or  side,  there  crops  out  a  ledge  of  rocks 
unusually  high  and  cavernous.  One  im- 
mense layer  projects  many  feet,  allowing  a 
person  or  many  persons,  standing  upright,  to 
move  freely  beneath  it.  There  is  a  delicious 
spring  of  water  there,  and  plenty  of  wild, 
cool  air.  The  floor  is  of  loose  stone,  now 
trod  by  sheep  and  foxes,  once  by  the  Indian 


BIRD&-NESTS.  161 

and  the  wolf.  How  I  have  delighted  from 
boyhood  to  spend  a  summer-day  in  this  re- 
treat or  take  refuge  there  from  a  sudden 
shower !  Always  the  freshness  and  coolness, 
and  always  the  delicate  mossy  nest  of  the 
phoabe-bird !  The  bird  keeps  her  place  till 
you  are  within  a  few  feet  of  her,  when  she 
flits  to  a  near  branch,  and,  with  many  oscil- 
lations of  her  tail,  observes  you  anxiously. 
Since  the  country  has  become  settled,  this 
pewee  has  fallen  into  the  strange  practice  of 
occasionally  placing  its  nest  under  a  bridge, 
hay-shed,  or  other  artificial  structure,  where 
it  is  subject  to  all  kinds  of  interruptions 
and  annoyances.  When  placed  thus,  the 
nest  is  larger  and  coarser.  I  know  a  hay- 
loft beneath  which  a  pair  has  regularly 
placed  its  nest  for  several  successive  seasons. 
Arranged  along  on  a  single  pole,  which  sags 
down  a  few  inches  from  the  flooring  it  was 
intended  to  help  support,  are  three  of  these 
structures,  marking  the  number  of  years  the 
birds  have  nested  there.  The  foundation  is 
of  mud  with  a  superstructure  of  moss,  elab- 
orately lined  with  hair  and  feathers.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  perfect  and  exquisite  than 
the  interior  of  one  of  these  nests,  yet  a  new 
one  is  built  every  season.  Three  broods,  how- 
ever, are  frequently  reared  in  it. 


162  BfRVS'-NESTS. 

The  pewees,  as  a  class,  are  the  best  archi- 
tects we  have.  The  king-bird  builds  a  nest 
altogether  admirable,  using  various  soft  cot- 
ton and  woollen  substances,  and  sparing  nei- 
ther time  nor  material  to  make  it  substantial 
and  warm.  The  green-crested  pewee  builds 
its  nest  in  many  instances  wholly  of  the 
blossoms  of  the  white-oak.  The  wood  pewee 
builds  a  neat,  compact,  socket-shaped  nest  of 
moss  and  lichens  on  a  horizontal  branch. 
There  is  never  a  loose  end  or  shred  about  it. 
The  sitting  bird  is  largely  visible  above  the 
rim.  She  moves  her  head  freely  about,  and 
seems  entirely  at  her  ease,  —  a  circumstance 
which  I  have  never  observed  in  any  other 
species.  The  nest  of  the  great-crested  fly- 
catcher is  seldom  free  from  snake  skins, 
three  or  four  being  sometimes  woven  into  it. 

About  the  thinnest,  shallowest  nest,  for 
its  situation,  that  can  be  found  is  that  of  the 
turtle-dove.  A  few  sticks  and  straws  are 
carelessly  thrown  together,  hardly  sufficient 
to  prevent  the  eggs  from  falling  through  or 
rolling  off.  The  nest  of  the  passenger 
pigeon  is  equally  hasty  and  insufficient,  and 
the  squabs  often  fall  to  the  ground  and  per- 
ish. The  other  extreme  among  our  common 
birds  is  furnished  by  the  ferruginous  thrush, 


BIKDB'-NESTS.  163 

which  collects  together  a  mass  of  material 
that  would  fill  a  half -bushel  measure ;  or  by 
the  fish-hawk,  which  adds  to  and  repairs  its 
nest  year  after  year,  till  the  whole  would 
make  a  cart-load. 

The  rarest  of  all  nests  is  that  of  the  eagle, 
because  the  eagle  is  the  rarest  of  all  birds. 
Indeed,  so  seldom  is  the  eagle  seen,  that  its 
presence  always  seems  accidental.  It  ap- 
pears as  if  merely  pausing  on  the  way,  while 
bound  for  some  distant  unknown  region. 
One  September,  while  a  youth,  I  saw  the 
ring-tailed  eagle,  an  immense,  dusky  bird, 
the  sight  of  which  filled  me  with  awe.  It 
lingered  about  the  hills  for  two  days.  Some 
young  cattle,  a  two-year-old  colt,  and  half  a 
dozen  sheep  were  at  pasture  on  a  high  ridge 
that  led  up  to  the  mountain,  and  in  plain 
view  of  the  house.  On  the  second  day,  this 
dusky  monarch  was  seen  flying  about  above 
them.  Presently  he  began  to  hover  over 
them,  after  the  manner  of  a  hawk  watching 
for  mice.  He  then  with  extended  legs  let 
himself  slowly  down  upon  them,  actually 
grappling  the  backs  of -the  young  cattle,  and 
frightening  the  creatures  so  that  they  rushed 
about  the  field  in  great  consternation ;  and 
finally,  as  he  grew  bolder  and  more  frequent 


164 

in  his  descents,  the  whole  herd  broke  over 
the  fence,  and  came  tearing  down  to  the 
house  "  like  mad."  It  did  not  seem  to  be 
an  assault  with  intent  to  kill,  but  was,  per- 
haps, a  strat-agem  resorted  to  in  order  to 
separate  the  herd  and  expose  the  lambs, 
which  hugged  the  cattle  very  closely.  When 
he  occasionally  alighted  upon  the  oaks  that 
stood  near,  the  branch  could  be  seen  to 
sway  and  bend  beneath  him.  Finally,  as  a 
rifleman  started  out  in  pursuit  of  him,  he 
launched  into  the  air,  set  his  wings,  and 
sailed  away  southward.  A  few  years  after- 
ward, in  January,  another  eagle  passed 
through  the  same  locality,  alighting  in  a  field 
near  some  dead  animal,  but  tarried  briefly. 

So  much  by  way  of  identification.  The 
bird  is  common  to  the  northern  parts  of  both 
hemispheres,  and  places  its  eyrie  on  high, 
precipitous  rocks.  A  pair  built  on  an  in- 
accessible shelf  of  rock  along  the  Hudson 
for  eight  successive  years.  A  squad  of  Rev- 
olutionary soldiers  also  found  a  nest  along 
this  river,  and  had  an  adventure  with  the 
bird  that  came  near  costing  one  of  their 
number  his  life.  His  comrades  let  him  down 
by  a  rope  to  secure  the  eggs  or  young,  when 
he  was  attacked  by  the  female  eagle  with 


SIRDS'-NESTS.  165 

such  fury  that  he  was  obliged  to  defend  him- 
self with  his  knife.  In  doing  so,  by  a  mis- 
stroke,  he  nearly  severed  the  rope  that  held 
him,  and  was  drawn  up  by  a  single  strand 
from  his  perilous  position.  Audubon,  from 
whom  this  anecdote  is  taken,  figures  and  de- 
scribes this  bird  as  the  golden  eagle,  though 
I  have  little  doubt  that  Wilson  was  right, 
and  that  the  golden  eagle  is  a  distinct  species. 

The  sea-eagle  also  builds  on  high  rocks, 
according  to  Audubon,  though  Wilson  de- 
scribes the  nest  of  one  which  he  saw  near 
Great  Egg  Harbor,  in  the  top  of  a  large 
yellow  pine.  It  was  a  vast  pile  of  sticks, 
sods,  sedge,  grass,  reeds,  etc.,  etc.,  five  or 
six  feet  high  by  four  broad,  and  with  little 
or  no  concavity.  It  had  been  used  for  many 
years,  and  he  was  told  that  the  eagles  made 
it  a  sort  of  home  or  lodging-place  in  all 
seasons.  This  agrees  with  the  description 
which  Audubon  gives  of  the  nest  of  the  bald 
eagle.  There  is  evidently  a  little  confusion 
on  both  sides. 

The  eagle  in  all  cases  uses  one  nest,  with 
more  or  less  repair,  for  several  years.  Many 
of  our  common  birds  do  the  same.  The 
birds  may  be  divided,  with  respect  to  this 
and  kindred  points,  into  five  general  classes. 


166  BIRDS-NESTS. 

First,  those  that  repair  or  appropriate  the 
last  year's  nest,  as  the  wren,  swallow,  blue- 
bird, great-crested  flycatcher,  owls,  eagles, 
fish -hawk,  and  a  few  others.  Secondly, 
those  that  build  anew  each  season,  though 
frequently  rearing  more  than  one  brood  in 
the  same  nest.  Of  these,  the  phoebe-bird  is 
a  well-known  example.  Thirdly,  those  that 
build  a  new  nest  for  each  brood,  which  in- 
cludes by  far  the  greatest  number  of  species. 
Fourthly,  a  limited  number  that  make  no 
nest  of  their  own,  but  appropriate  the  aban- 
doned nests  of  other  birds.  Finally,  those 
who  use  no  nest  at  all,  but  deposit  their 
eggs  in  the  sand,  which  is  the  case  with  a 
large  number  of  aquatic  fowls.  Thus  the 
common  gull  breeds  in  vast  numbers  on  the 
sand  bars  or  sand  islands  off  the  south  coast 
of  Long  Island.  A  little  dent  is  made  in 
the  sand,  the  eggs  are  dropped,  and  the  old 
birds  go  their  way.  In  due  time  the  eggs 
are  hatched  by  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  and 
the  little  creatures  shift  for  themselves.  In 
July  countless  numbers  of  them,  of  different 
ages  and  sizes,  swarm  upon  these  sandy 
wastes.  As  the  waves  roll  out,  they  rush 
down  the  beach,  picking  up  a  kind  of  sea 
gluten,  and  then  hasten  back  to  avoid  the 
next  breaker. 


SPEING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 
WITH  AN  EYE  TO  THE  BIRDS. 

I  CAME  to  Washington  to  live  in  the  fall 
of  1863,  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  month 
each  summer  spent  in  the  interior  of  New 
York,  have  lived  here  ever  since. 

I  saw  my  first  novelty  in  Natural  History 
the  day  after  my  arrival.  As  I  was  walking 
near  some  woods  north  of  the  city,  a  grass- 
hopper of  prodigious  size  flew  up  from  the 
ground,  and  alighted  in  a  tree.  As  I  pur- 
sued him,  he  proved  to  be  nearly  as  wild 
and  as  fleet  of  wing  as  a  bird.  I  thought  I 
had  reached  the  capital  of  grasshopperdom, 
and  that  this  was  perhaps  one  of  the  chiefs 
or  leaders,  or  perhaps  the  great  High  Cock- 
olorum  himself,  taking  an  airing  in  the 
fields.  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  settle 
the  question,  as  every  fall  I  start  up  a  few  of 
these  gigantic  specimens,  which  perch  on  the 
trees.  They  are  about  three  inches  long,  of 
a  gray  striped  or  spotted  color,  and  have 
quite  a  reptile  look. 


168  SPRING   AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

The  greatest  novelty  I  found,  however, 
was  the  superb  autumn  weather,  the  bright, 
strong,  electric  days,  lasting  well  into  Novem- 
ber, and  the  general  mildness  of  the  entire 
winter.  Though  the  mercury  occasionally 
sinks  to  zero,  yet  the  earth  is  never  so  seared 
and  blighted  by  the  cold  but  that,  in  some 
sheltered  nook  or  corner,  signs  of  vegetable 
life  still  remain,  which  on  a  little  encourage- 
ment even  asserts  itself.  I  have  found  wild 
flowers  here  every  month  in  the  year ;  violets 
in  December,  a  single  houstonia  in  January 
(the  little  lump  of  earth  upon  which  it  stood 
was  frozen  hard),  and  a  tiny,  weed -like 
plant,  with  a  flower  almost  microscopic  in 
its  smallness,  growing  along  gravelled  walks 
and  in  old  ploughed  fields  in  February.  The 
liverwort  sometimes  comes  out  as  early  as 
the  first  week  in  March,  and  the  little  frogs 
begin  to  pipe  doubtfully  about  the  same 
time.  Apricot-trees  are  usually  in  bloom  on 
All-Fool's-day,  and  the  apple-trees  on  May- 
day. By  August,  mother  hen  will  lead  forth 
her  third  brood,  and  I  had  a  March  pullet 
that  came  off  with  a  family  of  her  own  in 
September.  Our  calendar  is  made  for  this 
climate.  March  is  a  spring  month.  One 
is  quite  sure  to  see  some  marked  and  strik- 


SPRING  AT  TUB  CAPITAL.  169 

ing  change  during  the  first  eight  or  ten  days. 
This  season  (1868)  is  a  backward  one,  and 
the  memorable  change  did  not  come  till  the 
10th. 

Then  the  sun  rose  up  from  a  bed  of  va- 
pors, and  seemed  fairly  to  dissolve  with  ten- 
derness and  warmth.  For  an  hour  or  two 
the  air  was  perfectly  motionless,  and  full 
of  low,  humming,  awakening  sounds.  The 
naked  trees  had  a  rapt,  expectant  look. 
From  some  unreclaimed  common  near  by 
came  the  first  strain  of  the  song-sparrow; 
so  homely,  because  so  old  and  familiar,  yet 
so  inexpressibly  pleasing.  Presently  a  full 
chorus  of  voices  arose  ;  tender,  musical,  half 
suppressed,  but  full  of  genuine  hilarity  and 
joy.  The  bluebird  warbled,  the  robin  called, 
the  snow-bird  chattered,  the  meadow-lark 
uttered  her  strong,  but  tender  note.  Over 
a  deserted  field  a  turkey -buzzard  hovered 
low,  and  alighted  on  a  stake  in  the  fence, 
standing  a  moment  with  outstretched,  vibrat- 
ing wings,  till  he  was  sure  of  his  hold.  A 
soft,  warm,  brooding  day.  Roads  becoming 
dry  in  many  places,  and  looking  so  good 
after  the  mud  and  the  snow.  I  walk  up  be- 
yond the  boundary  and  over  Meridian  Hill. 
To  move  along  the  drying  road  and  feel  the 


170  SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

delicious  warmth  is  enough.  The  cattle  low 
long  and  loud,  and  look  wistfully  into  the 
distance.  I  sympathize  with  them.  Never 
a  spring  comes,  but  I  have  an  almost  ir- 
resistible desire  to  depart.  Some  nomadic 
or  migrating  instinct  or  reminiscence  stirs 
within  me.  I  ache  to  be  off. 

As  I  pass  along,  the  high-hole  calls  in  the 
distance  precisely  as  I  have  heard  him  in 
the  North.  After  a  pause  he  repeats  his 
summons.  What  can  be  more  welcome  to 
the  ear  than  these  early  first  sounds?  They 
have  such  a  margin  of  silence  ! 

One  need  but  pass  the  boundary  of  Wash- 
ington city  to  be  fairly  in  the  country,  and 
ten  minutes'  walk  in  the  country  brings  one 
to  real  primitive  woods.  The  town  has  not 
yet  overflowed  its  limits  like  the  great  North- 
ern commercial  capitals,  and  Nature,  wild 
and  unkempt,  comes  up  to  its  very  thresh- 
old, and  even  in  many  places  crosses  it. 

The  woods,  which  I  soon  reach,  are  stark 
and  still.  The  signs  of  returning  life  are  so 
faint  as  to  be  almost  imperceptible,  but  there 
is  a  fresh,  earthy  smell  in  the  air,  as  if  some- 
thing had  stirred  here  under  the  leaves.  The 
crows  caw  above  the  wood,  or  walk  about 
the  brown  fields.  I  look  at  the  gray,  silent 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.      171 

trees  long  and  long,  but  they  show  no  sign. 
The  catkins  of  some  alders  by  a  little  pool 
have  just  swelled  perceptibly;  and  brush- 
ing away  the  dry  leaves  and  debris  on  a 
sunny  slope,  I  discover  the  liverwort  just 
pushing  up  a  fuzzy,  tender  sprout.  But  the 
waters  have  brought  forth.  The  little  frogs 
are  musical.  From  every  marsh  and  pool 
goes  up  their  shrill,  but  pleasing  chorus. 
Peering  into  one  of  their  haunts,  a  little 
body  of  semi  -  stagnant  water,  I  discover 
masses  of  frogs'  spawn  covering  the  bottom. 
I  take  up  great  chunks  of  the  cold,  quiver- 
ing jelly  in  my  hands.  In  some  places  there 
are  gallons  of  it.  A  youth  who  accompanies 
me  wonders  if  it  would  not  be  good  cooked, 
or  if  it  could  not  be  used  as  a  substitute  for 
eggs.  It  is  a  perfect  jelly,  of  a  slightly 
milky  tinge,  thickly  imbedded  with  black 
spots  about  the  size  of  a  small  bird's  eye. 
When  just  deposited,  it  is  perfectly  trans- 
parent. These  hatch  in  eight  or  ten  days, 
gradually  absorb  their  gelatinous  surround- 
ings, and  the  tiny  tadpoles  issue  forth. 

In  the  city,  even  before  the  shop-windows 
have  caught  the  inspiration,  spring  is  her- 
alded by  the  silver  poplars,  which  line  all 
the  streets  and  avenues.  After  a  few  mild, 


172  SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

sunshiny  March  days,  you  suddenly  perceive 
a  change  has  come  over  the  trees.  Their 
tops  have  a  less  naked  look.  If  the  weather 
continues  warm,  a  single  day  will  work  won- 
ders. Presently  the  tree  will  be  one  vast 
plume  of  gray,  downy  tassels,  while  not  the 
least  speck  of  green  foliage  is  visible.  The 
first  week  in  April,  these  long  mimic  cater- 
pillars lie  all  about  the  streets  and  fill  the 
gutters. 

The  approach  of  spring  is  also  indicated 
by  the  crows  and  buzzards,  which  rapidly 
multiply  in  the  environs  of  the  city,  and 
grow  bold  and  demonstrative.  The  crows 
are  abundant  here  all  winter,  but  are  not 
very  noticeable  except  as  they  pass  high  in 
air  to  and  from  their  winter-quarters  in  the 
Virginia  woods.  Early  in  the  morning,  as 
soon  as  it  is  light  enough  to  discern  them, 
there  they  are,  streaming  eastward  across 
the  sky,  now  in  loose,  scattered  flocks,  now 
in  thick,  dense  masses,  then  singly  and  in 
pairs  or  triplets,  but  all  setting  in  one  direc- 
tion, probably  to  the  waters  of  Eastern  Mary- 
land. Toward  night  they  begin  to  return, 
flying  in  the  same  manner,  and  directing 
their  course  to  the  wooded  heights  on  the 
Potomac,  west  of  the  city.  In  spring  these 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.  173 

diurnal  mass  movements  cease ;  the  clan 
breaks  up,  the  rookery  is  abandoned,  and 
the  birds  scatter  broadcast  over  the  land. 
This  seems  to  be  the  course  everywhere  pur- 
sued. One  would  think  that,  when  food  was 
scarcest,  the  policy  of  separating  into  small 
bands  or  pairs,  and  dispersing  over  a  wide 
country,  would  prevail,  as  a  few  might  sub- 
sist where  a  larger  number  would  starve. 
The  truth  is,  however,  that  in  winter  food 
can  be  had  only  in  certain  clearly  defined 
districts  and  tracts,  as  along  rivers  and  the 
shores  of  bays  and  lakes. 

A  few  miles  north  of  Newburg,  on  the 
Hudson,  the  crows  go  into  winter-quarters 
in  the  same  manner,  flying  south  in  the 
morning  and  returning  again  at  night,  some- 
times hugging  the  hills  so  close  during  a 
strong  wind,  as  to  expose  themselves  to  the 
clubs  and  stones  of  schoolboys  ambushed  be- 
hind trees  and  fences.  The  belated  ones, 
that  come  laboring  along  just  at  dusk,  are 
often  so  overcome  by  the  long  journey  and 
the  strong  current,  that  they  seem  almost  on 
the  point  of  sinking  down  whenever  the 
wind  or  a  rise  in  the  ground  calls  upon  them 
for  an  extra  effort. 

The  turkey-buzzards  are  noticeable  about 


174  SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

Washington  as  soon  as  the  season  begins  to 
open,  sailing  leisurely  along  two  or  three 
hundred  feet  overhead,  or  sweeping  low  over 
some  common  or  open  space,  where,  per- 
chance, a  dead  puppy,  or  pig,  or  fowl  has 
been  thrown.  Half  a  dozen  will  sometimes 
alight  about  some  such  object  out  on  the 
commons,  and  with  their  broad  dusky  wings 
lifted  up  to  their  full  extent,  threaten  and 
chase  each  other,  while  perhaps  one  or  two 
are  feeding.  Their  wings  are  very  large  and 
flexible,  and  the  slightest  motion  of  them, 
while  the  bird  stands  upon  the  ground,  suf- 
fices to  lift  its  feet  clear.  Their  movements 
when  in  air  are  very  majestic  and  beautiful 
to  the  eye,  being  in  every  respect  identical 
with  those  of  our  common  hen  or  red-tailed 
hawk.  They  sail  along  in  the  same  calm, 
effortless,  interminable  manner,  and  sweep 
around  in  the  same  ample  spirals.  The 
shape  of  their  wings  and  tail,  indeed  their 
entire  effect  against  the  sky,  except  in  size 
and  color,  is  very  nearly  the  same  as  that  of 
the  hawk  mentioned.  A  dozen  at  a  time 
may  often  be  seen  high  in  air,  amusing  them- 
selves by  sailing  serenely  round  and  round 
in  the  same  circle. 

They  are  less  active  and  vigilant  than  the 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.  175 

hawk ;  never  poise  themselves  on  the  wing, 
never  dive  and  gambol  in  the  air,  and  never 
swoop  down  upon  their  prey;  unlike  the 
hawks  also,  they  appear  to  have  no  enemies. 
The  crow  fights  the  hawk,  and  the  king- 
bird and  crow-blackbird  fight  the  crow ;  but 
neither  takes  any  notice  of  the  buzzard.  He 
excites  the  enmity  of  none,  for  the  reason 
that  he  molests  none.  The  crow  has  an  old 
grudge  against  the  hawk,  because  the  hawk 
robs  the  crow's  nest  and  carries  off  his  young ; 
the  kingbird's  quarrel  with  the  crow  is  upon 
the  same  grounds.  But  the  buzzard  never 
attacks  live  game,  or  feeds  upon  new  flesh 
when  old  can  be  had. 

In  May,  like  the  crows,  they  nearly  all 
disappear  very  suddenly,  probably  to  their 
breeding-haunts  near  the  sea-shore.  Do  the 
males  separate  from  the  females  at  this  time, 
and  go  by  themselves  ?  At  any  rate,  in  July 
I  discovered  that  a  large  number  of  buzzards 
roosted  in  some  woods  near  Rock  Creek, 
about  a  mile  from  the  city  limits ;  and,  as 
they  do  not  nest  anywhere  in  this  vicinity,  I 
thought  they  might  be  males.  I  happened 
to  be  detained  late  in  the  woods,  watching 
the  nest  of  a  flying  squirrel,  when  the  buz- 
zards, just  after  sundown,  began  to  come  by 


176  SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL. 

ones  and  twos,  and  alight  in  the  trees  near 
me.  Presently  they  came  in  greater  num- 
bers, but  from  the  same  direction,  flapping 
low  over  the  woods,  and  taking  up  their  posi- 
tion in  the  middle  branches.  On  alighting, 
each  one  would  blow  very  audibly  through 
his  nose,  just  as  a  cow  does  when  she  lies 
down ;  this  is  the  only  sound  I  have  ever 
heard  the  buzzard  make.  They  would  then 
stretch  themselves  after  the  manner  of  tur- 
keys, and  walk  along  the  limbs.  Sometimes 
a  decayed  branch  would  break  under  the 
weight  of  two  or  three,  when,  with  a  great 
flapping,  they  would  take  up  new  positions. 
They  continued  to  come  till  it  was  quite 
dark,  and  all  the  trees  about  me  were  full. 
I  began  to  feel  a  little  nervous,  but  kept  my 
place.  After  it  was  entirely  dark,  and  all 
was  still,  I  gathered  a  large  pile  of  dry  leaves 
and  kindled  it  with  a  match,  to  see  what  they 
would  think  of  a  fire.  Not  a  sound  was 
heard  till  the  pile  of  leaves  was  in  full  blaze, 
when  instantaneously  every  buzzard  started. 
I  thought  the  tree-tops  were  coming  down 
upon  me,  so  great  was  the  uproar.  But  the 
woods  were  soon  cleared,  and  the  loathsome 
pack  disappeared  in  the  night. 

About  the  first  of  June  I  saw  numbers  of 


SPUING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.  177 

buzzards  sailing  around  over  the  great  Falls 
of  the  Potomac. 

A  glimpse  of  the  birds  usually  found  here 
in  the  latter  part  of  winter  may  be  had  in 
the  following  extract,  which  I  take  from  my 
diary  under  date  of  February  4th :  — 

"  Made  a  long  excursion  through  the 
woods  and  over  the  hills.  Went  directly 
north  from  the  Capitol  for  about  three  miles. 
The  ground  bare  and  the  day  cold  and  sharp. 
In  the  suburbs,  among  the  scattered  Irish 
and  negro  shanties,  came  suddenly  upon  a 
flock  of  birds,  feeding  about  like  our  North- 
ern snow-buntings.  Every  now  and  then 
they  uttered  a  piping,  disconsolate  note,  as  if 
they  had  a  very  sorry  time  of  it.  They 
proved  to  be  shore-larks,  the  first  I  had  ever 
seen.  They  had  the  walk  characteristic  of 
all  larks ;  were  a  little  larger  than  the  spar- 
row; had  a  black  spot  on  the  breast,  with 
much  white  on  the  under  parts  of  their 
bodies.  As  I  approached  them,  the  nearer 
ones  paused,  and,  half  squatting,  eyed  me 
suspiciously.  Presently,  at  a  movement  of 
my  arm,  away  they  went,  flying  exactly  like 
the  snow-bunting,  and  showing  nearly  as 
much  white."  (I  have  since  discovered  that 
the  shore-lark  is  a  regular  visitant  here  in 


178  SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL. 

February  and  March,  when  large  quantities 
of  them  are  shot  or  trapped,  and  exposed  for 
sale  in  the  market.  During  a  heavy  snow  I 
have  seen  numbers  of  them  feeding  upon 
the  seeds  of  various  weedy  growths  in  a  large 
market-garden  well  into  town.)  "  Pressing 
on,  the  walk  became  exhilarating.  Followed 
a  little  brook,  the  eastern  branch  of  the  Tiber, 
lined  with  bushes  and  a  rank  growth  of  green 
brier.  Sparrows  started  out  here  and  there 
and  flew  across  the  little  bends  and  points. 
Among  some  pines  just  beyond  the  boun- 
dary, saw  a  number  of  American  goldfinches, 
in  their  gray  winter  dress,  pecking  the  pine- 
cones.  A  golden-crowned  kinglet  was  there, 
also,  a  little  tuft  of  gray  feathers,  hopping 
about  as  restless  as  a  spirit.  Had  the  old 
pine-trees  food  delicate  enough  for  him  also? 
Farther  on,  in  some  low  open  woods,  saw 
many  sparrows,  —  the  fox,  white-throated, 
white-crowned,  the  Canada,  the  song,  the 
swamp,  —  all  herding  together  along  the 
warm  and  sheltered  borders.  To  my  sur- 
prise saw  a  cheewink  also,  and  the  yellow- 
rumped  warbler.  The  purple  finch  was  there 
likewise,  and  the  Carolina  wren  and  brown 
creeper.  In  the  higher,  colder  woods  not  a 
bird  was  to  be  seen.  Returning,  near  sun- 


SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL.  179 

set,  across  the  eastern  slope  of  a  hill  which 
overlooked  the  city,  was  delighted  to  see  a 
number  of  grass-finches  or  vesper  sparrows 
—  birds  which  will  be  forever  associated  in 
my  mind  with  my  father's  sheep  pastures. 
They  ran  before  me,  now  flitting  a  pace  or 
two,  now  skulking  in  the  low  stubble,  just 
as  I  had  observed  them  when  a  boy." 

A  month  later,  March  4th,  is  this  note :  — 
"After  the  second  memorable  inaugura- 
tion of  President  Lincoln,  took  my  first  trip 
of  the  season.  The  afternoon  was  very  clear 
and  warm  —  real  vernal  sunshine  at  last, 
though  the  wind  roared  like  a  lion  over  the 
woods.  It  seemed  novel  enough  to  find 
within  two  miles  of  the  White  House  a  sim- 
ple woodsman  chopping  away  as  if  no  Presi- 
dent was  being  inaugurated !  Some  puppies, 
snugly  settled  in  the  cavity  of  an  old  hollow 
tree,  he  said,  belonged  to  a  wild  dog.  I 
imagine  I  saw  the  '  wild  dog,'  on  the  other 
side  of  Rock  Creek,  in  a  great  state  of  grief 
and  trepidation,  running  up  and  down,  cry- 
ing and  yelping,  and  looking  wistfully  over 
the  swollen  flood,  which  the  poor  thing  had 
not  the  courage  to  brave.  This  day,  for  the 
first  time,  I  heard  the  song  of  the  Canada 
sparrow,  a  soft,  sweet  note,  almost  running 


180      SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

into  a  warble.  Saw  a  small,  black,  velvety 
butterfly  with  a  yellow  border  to  its  wings. 
Under  a  warm  bank  found  two  flowers  of  the 
houstonia  in  bloom.  Saw  frogs'  spawn  near 
Piny  Branch,  and  heard  the  hyla." 

Among  the  first  birds  that  make  their  ap- 
pearance in  Washington,  is  the  crow-black- 
bird. He  may  come  any  time  after  the  1st 
of  March.  The  birds  congregate  in  large 
flocks,  and  frequent  groves  and  parks,  alter- 
nately swarming  in  the  tree-tops  and  filling 
the  air  with  their  sharp  jangle,  and  alight- 
ing on  the  ground  in  quest  of  food,  their 
polished  coats  glistening  in  the  sun  from 
very  blackness,  as  they  walk  about.  There 
is  evidently  some  music  in  the  soul  of  this 
bird  at  this  season,  though  he  makes  a  sad 
failure  in  getting  it  out.  His  voice  always 
sounds  as  if  he  were  laboring  under  a  severe 
attack  of  influenza,  though  a  large  flock  of 
them  heard  at  a  distance  on  a  bright  after- 
noon of  early  spring  produce  an  effect  not 
unpleasing.  The  air  is  filled  with  crackling, 
splintering,  spurting,  semi-musical  sounds, 
which  are  like  pepper  and  salt  to  the  ear. 

All  parks  and  public  grounds  about  the 
city  are  full  of  blackbirds.  They  are  espe- 
cially plentiful  in  the  trees  about  the  White 


SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL.  181 

House,  breeding  there  and  waging  war  on 
all  other  birds.  The  occupants  of  one  of  the 
offices  in  the  west  wing  of  the  Treasury  one 
day  had  their  attention  attracted  by  some 
object  striking  violently  against  one  of  the 
window-panes.  Looking  up,  they  beheld 
a  crow-blackbird  pausing  in  mid-air,  a  few 
feet  from  the  window.  On  the  broad  stone 
window-sill  lay  the  quivering  form  of  a  pur- 
ple finch.  The  little  tragedy  was  easily  read. 
The  blackbird  had  pursued  the  finch  with 
such  murderous  violence,  that  the  latter,  in 
its  desperate  efforts  to  escape,  had  sought 
refuge  in  the  Treasury.  The  force  of  the 
concussion  against  the  heavy  plate-glass  of 
the  window  had  killed  the  poor  thing  in- 
stantly. The  pursuer,  no  doubt  astonished 
at  the  sudden  and  novel  termination  of  the 
career  of  its  victim,  hovered  a  moment,  as 
if  to  be  sure  of  what  had  happened,  and 
made  off. 

(It  is  not  unusual  for  birds,  when  thus 
threatened  with  destruction  by  their  natural 
enemy,  to  become  so  terrified  as  to  seek 
safety  in  the  presence  of  man.  I  was  once 
startled,  while  living  in  a  country  village,  to 
behold,  on  entering  my  room  at  noon,  one 
October  day,  a  quail  sitting  upon  my  bed. 


182      SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

\ 

The  affrighted  and  bewildered  bird  instantly 
started  for  the  open  window,  into  which  it 
had  no  doubt  been  driven  by  a  hawk.) 

The  crow-blackbird  has  all  the  natural 
cunning  of  his  prototype,  the  crow.  In  one 
of  the  inner  courts  of  the  Treasury  building 
there  is  a  fountain  with  several  trees  grow- 
ing near.  By  midsummer,  the  blackbirds 
become  so  bold  as  to  venture  within  this 
court.  Various  fragments  of  food,  tossed 
from  the  surrounding  windows,  reward  their 
temerity.  When  a  crust  of  dry  bread  defies 
their  beaks,  they  have  been  seen  to  drop  it 
into  water,  and  when  it  had  become  soaked 
sufficiently,  to  take  it  out  again. 

They  build  a  nest  of  coarse  sticks  and 
mud,  the  whole  burden  of  the  enterprise 
seeming  to  devolve  upon  the  female.  For 
several  successive  mornings  just  after  sun- 
rise, I  used  to  notice  a  pair  of  them  fly- 
ing to  and  fro  in  the  air  above  me,  as  I 
hoed  in  the  garden,  directing  their  course, 
on  the  one  hand,  to  a  marshy  piece  of  ground 
about  half  a  mile  distant,  and  disappearing, 
on  their  return,  among  the  trees  about  the 
Capitol.  Returning,  the  female  always  had 
her  beak  loaded  with  building  material,  while 
the  male,  carrying  nothing,  seemed  to  act  as 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.  183 

her  escort,  flying  a  little  above  and  in  ad- 
vance of  her,  and  uttering  now  and  then  his 
husky,  discordant  note.  As  I  tossed  a  lump 
of  earth  up  at  them,  the  frightened  mother 
bird  dropped  her  mortar,  and  the  pair  skur- 
ried  away,  much  put  out.  Later,  they  avenged 
themselves  by  pilfering  my  cherries. 

The  most  mischievous  enemies  of  the  cher- 
ries, however,  here,  as  at  the  North,  are  the 
cedar  wax-wings,  or  "  cherry-birds."  How 
quickly  they  spy  out  the  tree !  Long  before 
the  cherry  begins  to  turn,  they  are  around, 
alert  and  cautious.  In  small  flocks  they  cir- 
cle about,  high  in  air,  uttering  their  fine  note, 
or  plunge  quickly  into  the  tops  of  remote 
trees.  Day  by  day  they  approach  nearer 
and  nearer,  reconnoitring  the  premises,  and 
watching  the  growing  fruit.  Hardly  have 
the  green  lobes  turned  a  red  cheek  to  the 
sun,  before  their  beaks  have  scarred  it.  At 
first  they  approach  the  trees  stealthily,  on  the 
side  turned  from  the  house,  diving  quickly 
into  the  branches  in  ones  and  twos,  while  the 
main  flock  is  ambushed  in  some  shade  tree 
not  far  off.  They  are  most  apt  to  commit 
their  depredations  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing and  on  cloudy,  rainy  days.  As  the  cher- 
ries grow  sweeter,  the  birds  grow  bolder,  till, 


184  SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

from  throwing  tufts  of  grass,  one  has  to 
throw  stones  in  good  earnest,  or  lose  all  his 
fruit.  In  June  they  disappear,  following 
the  cherries  to  the  north,  where  by  July, 
they  are  nesting  in  the  orchards  and  cedar 
groves. 

Among  the  permanent  summer  residents 
here  (one  might  say  city  residents,  as  they 
seem  more  abundant  in  town  than  out),  the 
yellow  warbler  or  summer  yellow-bird  is  con- 
spicuous. He  comes  about  the  middle  of 
April,  and  seems  particularly  attached  to 
the  silver  poplars.  In  every  street,  and  all 
day  long,  one  may  hear  his  thin,  sharp  war- 
ble. When  nesting,  the  female  comes  about 
the  yard,  pecking  at  the  clothes-line,  and 
gathering  up  bits  of  thread  to  weave  into 
her  nest. 

Swallows  appear  in  Washington  from  the 
first  to  the  middle  of  April.  They  come  twit- 
tering along  in  the  way  so  familiar  to  every 
New  England  boy.  The  barn  swallow  is 
heard  first,  followed  in  a  day  or  two  by  the 
squeaking  of  the  cliff-swallow.  The  chim- 
ney-swallows, or  swifts,  are  not  far  behind, 
and  remain  here,  in  large  numbers,  the  whole 
season.  The  purple  martins  appear  in  April, 
as  they  pass  north,  and  again  in  July  and 


SPRJNG  AT  THE  CAPITAL.      185 

August  on  their  return,  accompanied  by 
their  young. 

The  national  capital  is  situated  in  such  a 
vast  spread  of  wild,  wooded,  or  semi-culti- 
vated country,  and  is  in  itself  so  open  and 
spacious,  with  its  parks  and  large  govern- 
ment reservations,  that  an  unusual  number 
of  birds  find  their  way  into  it  in  the  course 
of  the  season.  Rare  warblers,  as  the  black- 
poll,  the  yellow  red-poll,  and  the  bay-breasted, 
pausing  in  May  on  their  northward  journey, 
pursue  their  insect  game  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  town. 

I  have  heard  the  veery  thrush  in  the  trees 
near  the  White  House ;  and  one  rainy  April 
morning,  about  six  o'clock,  he  came  and  blew 
his  soft,  mellow  flute  in  a  pear-tree  in  my 
garden.  The  tones  had  all  the  sweetness 
and  wildness  they  have  when  heard  in  June 
in  our  deep  Northern  forests.  A  day  or  two 
afterward,  in  the  same  tree,  I  heard  for  the 
first  time  the  song  of  the  golden-crowned  wren, 
or  kinglet,  —  the  same  liquid  bubble  and 
cadence  which  characterize  the  wren-songs 
generally,  but  much  finer  and  more  delicate 
than  the  song  of  any  other  variety  known  to 
me ;  beginning  in  a  fine,  round,  needle-like 
note,  and  rising  into  a  full,  sustained  war- 


186  SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL. 

ble  ;  —  a  strain,  on  the  whole,  remarkably 
exquisite  and  pleasing,  the  singer  being  all 
the  while  as  busy  as  a  bee,  catching  some 
kind  of  insects.  If  the  ruby-crowned  sings 
as  well  (and  no  doubt  it  does),  Audubon's 
enthusiasm  concerning  its  song,  as  he  heard 
it  in  the  wilds  of  Labrador,  is  not  a  bit  ex- 
travagant. The  song  of  the  kinglet  is  the 
only  characteristic  that  allies  it  to  the  wrens. 

The  Capitol  grounds,  with  their  fine  large 
trees  of  many  varieties,  draw  many  kinds  of 
birds.  In  the  rear  of  the  building,  the  ex- 
tensive grounds  are  peculiarly  attractive, 
being  a  gentle  slope,  warm  and  protected, 
and  quite  thickly  wooded.  Here  in  early 
spring  I  go  to  hear  the  robins,  cat-birds, 
blackbirds,  wrens,  etc.  In  March  the  white- 
throated  and  white-crowned  sparrows  may 
be  seen,  hopping  about  on  the  flower-beds, 
or  peering  slyly  from  the  evergreens.  The 
robin  hops  about  freely  upon  the  grass, 
notwithstanding  the  keeper's  large-lettered 
warning,  and  at  intervals,  and  especially  at 
sunset,  carols  from  the  tree-tops  his  loud, 
hearty  strain. 

The  kingbird  and  orchard  starling  remain 
the  whole  season,  and  breed  in  the  tree-tops. 
The  rich,  copious  song  of  the  starling  may  be 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.      187 

heard  there  all  the  forenoon.  The  song  of 
some  birds  is  like  scarlet,  —  strong,  intense, 
emphatic.  This  is  the  character  of  the  or- 
chard starlings;  also  of  the  tanagers  and 
the  various  grossbeaks.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  songs  of  other  birds,  as  of  certain  of 
the  thrushes,  suggest  the  serene  blue  of  the 
upper  sky. 

In  February,  one  may  hear,  in  the  Smith- 
sonian grounds,  the  song  of  the  fox-sparrow. 
It  is  a  strong,  richly  modulated  whistle,  — 
the  finest  sparrow  note  I  have  ever  heard. 

A  curious  and  charming  sound  may  be 
heard  here  in  May.  You  are  walking  forth 
in  the  soft  morning  air,  when  suddenly  there 
comes  a  burst  of  bobolink  melody  from  some 
mysterious  source.  A  score  of  throats  pour 
out  one  brief,  hilarious,  tuneful  jubilee,  and 
are  suddenly  silent.  There  is  a  strange  re- 
moteness and  fascination  about  it.  Pres- 
ently you  discover  its  source  skyward,  and  a 
quick  eye  will  detect  the  gay  band  pushing 
northward.  They  seem  to  scent  the  fragrant 
meadows  afar  off,  and  shout  forth  snatches 
of  their  songs  in  anticipation. 

The  bobolink  does  not  breed  in  the  Dis- 
trict, but  usually  pauses  in  his  journey,  and 
feeds  during  the  day  in  the  grass-lands  north 


188      SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

of  the  city.  When  the  season  is  backward, 
they  tarry  a  week  or  ten  days,  singing  freely, 
and  appearing  quite  at  home.  In  large 
flocks  they  search  over  every  inch  of  ground, 
and  at  intervals  hover  on  the  wing  or  alight 
in  the  tree-tops,  all  pouring  forth  their  glad- 
ness at  once,  and  filling  the  air  with  a  mul- 
titudinous musical  clamor. 

They  continue  to  pass,  travelling  by  night, 
and  feeding  by  day,  till  after  the  middle  of 
May,  when  they  cease.  In  September,  with 
numbers  greatly  increased,  they  are  on  their 
way  back.  I  am  first  advised  of  their  return 
by  hearing  their  calls  at  night  as  they  fly 
over  the  city.  On  certain  nights  the  sound 
becomes  quite  noticeable.  I  have  awakened 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and,  through  the 
open  window,  as  I  lay  in  bed,  heard  their 
faint  notes.  The  warblers  begin  to  return 
about  the  same  time,  and  are  clearly  distin- 
guished by  their  timid  yeaps.  On  dark, 
cloudy  nights,  the  birds  seem  confused  by 
the  lights  of  the  city,  and  apparently  wander 
about  above  it. 

In  the  spring  the  same  curious  incident  is 
repeated,  though  but  few  voices  can  be  iden- 
tified. I  make  out  the  snow-bird,  the  bobo- 
link, the  warblers,  and  on  two  nights  during 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.  189 

the  early  part  of  May,  I  heard  very  clearly 
the  call  of  the  sandpipers. 

Instead  of  the  bobolink,  one  encounters 
here,  in  the  June  meadows,  the  black-throated 
bunting,  a  bird  closely  related  to  the  spar- 
rows, and  a  very  persistent,  if  not  a  very 
musical,  songster.  He  perches  upon  the 
fences  and  upon  the  trees  by  the  roadside, 
and,  spreading  his  tail,  gives  forth  his  harsh 
strain,  which  may  be  roughly  worded  thus  : 
fscp  fscp,  fee  fee  fee.  Like  all  sounds  as- 
sociated with  early  summer,  it  soon  has  a 
charm  to  the  ear  quite  independent  of  its 
intrinsic  merits. 

Outside  of  the  city  limits,  the  great  point 
of  interest  to  the  rambler  and  lover  of  na- 
ture is  the  Rock  Creek  region.  Rock  Creek 
is  a  large,  rough,  rapid  stream,  which  has 
its  source  in  the  interior  of  Maryland,  and 
flows  into  the  Potomac  between  Washington 
and  Georgetown.  Its  course,  for  five  or 
six  miles  out  of  Washington,  is  marked  by 
great  diversity  of  scenery.  Flowing  in  a 
deep  valley,  which  now  and  then  becomes  a 
wild  gorge  with  overhanging  rocks  and  high, 
precipitous  headlands,  for  the  most  part 
wooded ;  here  reposing  in  long,  dark  reaches, 
there  sweeping  and  hurrying  around  a  sud- 


190  SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

den  bend  or  over  a  rocky  bed  ;  receiving  at 
short  intervals  small  runs  and  spring  rivu- 
lets, which  open  up  vistas  and  outlooks  to 
the  right  and  left  of  the  most  charming  de- 
scription, —  Rock  Creek  has  an  abundance 
of  all  the  elements  that  make  up  not  only 
pleasing,  but  wild  and  rugged  scenery. 
There  is  perhaps  not  another  city  in  the 
Union  that  has  on  its  very  threshold  so  much 
natural  beauty  and  grandeur,  such  as  men 
seek  for  in  remote  forests  and  mountains. 
A  few  touches  of  art  would  convert  this 
whole  region,  extending  from  Georgetown  to 
what  is  known  as  Crystal  Spring,  not  more 
than  two  miles  from  the  present  State  De- 
partment, into  a  park  unequalled  by  anything 
in  the  world.  There  are  passages  between 
these  two  points  as  wild  and  savage,  and  ap- 
parently as  remote  from  civilization,  as  any- 
thing one  meets  with  in  the  mountain  sources 
of  the  Hudson  or  the  Delaware. 

One  of  the  tributaries  to  Rock  Creek 
within  this  limit  is  called  Piny  Branch.  It 
is  a  small,  noisy  brook,  flowing  through  a 
valley  of  great  natural  beauty  and  pictur- 
esqueness,  shaded  nearly  all  the  way  by 
woods  of  oak,  chestnut,  and  beech,  and 
abounding  in  dark  recesses  and  hidden  re- 
treats. 


SPUING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.      191 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  the  many 
springs  with  which  this  whole  region  is  sup- 
plied, each  the  centre  of  some  wild  nook, 
perhaps  the  head  of  a  little  valley  one  or 
two  hundred  yards  long,  through  which  one 
catches  a  glimpse,  or  hears  the  voice  of  the 
main  creek  rushing  along  below. 

My  walks  tend  in  this  direction  more  fre- 
quently than  in  any  other.  Here  the  boys 
go  too,  troops  of  them,  of  a  Sunday,  to  bathe 
and  prowl  around,  and  indulge  the  semi-bar- 
barous instincts  that  still  lurk  within  them. 
Life,  in  all  its  forms,  is  most  abundant  near 
water.  The  rank  vegetation  nurtures  the 
insects,  and  the  insects  draw  the  birds.  The 
first  week  in  March,  on  some  southern  slope 
where  the  sunshine  lies  warm  and  long,  I 
usually  find  the  hepatica  in  bloom,  though 
with  scarcely  an  inch  of  stalk.  In  the 
spring  runs,  the  skunk  cabbage  pushes  its 
pike  up  through  the  mould,  the  flower  ap- 
pearing first,  as  if  Nature  had  made  a  mis- 
take. 

It  is  not  till  about  the  1st  of  April  that 
many  wild -flowers  may  be  looked  for.  By 
this  time,  the  hepatica,  anemone,  saxifrage, 
arbutus,  houstonia,  and  blood-root  may  be 
counted  on.  A  week  later,  the  claytonia,  or 


192  SPRING  AT  TEE  CAPITAL. 

spring  beauty,  water-cress,  violets,  a  low  but- 
tercup, vetch,  corydalis,  and  potentilla  ap- 
pear. These  comprise  most  of  the  April 
flowers,  and  may  be  found  in  great  profu- 
sion in  the  Rock  Creek  and  Piny  Branch 
region. 

In  each  little  valley  or  spring  run,  some 
one  species  predominates.  I  know  invaria- 
bly where  to  look  for  the  first  liverwort,  and 
where  the  largest  and  finest  may  be  found. 
On  a  dry,  gravelly,  half-wooded  hill-slope, 
the  birds-foot  violet  grows  in  great  abun- 
dance, and  is  sparse  in  neighboring  districts. 
This  flower,  which  I  never  saw  in  the  North, 
is  the  most  beautiful  and  showy  of  all  the 
violets,  and  calls  forth  rapturous  applause 
from  all  persons  who  visit  the  woods.  It 
grows  in  little  groups  and  clusters,  and  bears 
a  close  resemblance  to  the  pansies  of  the 
gardens.  Its  two  purple,  velvety  petals 
seem  to  fall  over  tiny  shoulders  like  a  rich 
cape. 

On  the  same  slope,  and  on  no  other,  I  go 
about  the  1st  of  May  for  lupine,  or  sun-dial, 
which  makes  the  ground  look  blue  from  a 
little  distance ;  on  the  other,  or  northern 
side  of  the  slope,  the  arbutus,  during  the 
first  half  of  April,  perfumes  the  wild-wood 


SPUING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.      193 

air.  A  few  paces  farther  on,  in  the  bottom 
of  a  little  spring  run,  the  mandrake  shades 
the  ground  with  its  miniature  umbrellas.  It 
begins  to  push  its  green  finger-points  through 
the  ground  by  the  1st  of  April,  but  is  not  in 
bloom  till  the  1st  of  May.  It  has  a  single 
white,  wax-like  flower,  with  a  sweet,  sickish 
odor,  growing  immediately  beneath  its  broad, 
leafy  top.  By  the  same  run  grow  water- 
cresses  and  two  kinds  of  anemones,  —  the 
Pennsylvania  and  the  grove  anemone.  The 
blood-root  is  very  common  at  the  foot  of  al- 
most every  warm  slope  in  the  Kock  Creek 
woods,  and,  where  the  wind  has  tucked  it  up 
well  with  the  coverlid  of  dry  leaves,  makes 
its  appearance  almost  as  soon  as  the  liver- 
wort. It  is  singular  how  little  warmth  is 
necessary  to  encourage  these  earlier  flowers 
to  put  forth  !  It  would  seem  as  if  some  in- 
fluence must  come  on  in  advance  under- 
ground and  get  things  ready,  so  that  when 
the  outside  temperature  is  propitious,  they 
at  once  venture  out.  I  have  found  the  blood- 
root  when  it  was  still  freezing  two  or  three 
nights  in  the  week,  and  have  known  at  least 
three  varieties  of  early  flowers  to  be  buried 
in  eight  inches  of  snow. 

Another    abundant   flower   in   the   Rock 


194  SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL. 

Creek  region  is  the  spring  beauty.  Like  most 
others  it  grows  in  streaks.  A  few  paces  from 
where  your  attention  is  monopolized  by  vio- 
lets, or  arbutus,  it  is  arrested  by  the  clayto- 
nia,  growing  in  such  profusion  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  set  the  foot  down  without  crush- 
ing the  flowers.  Only  the  forenoon  walker 
sees  them  in  all  their  beauty,  as  later  in  the 
day  their  eyes  are  closed,  and  their  pretty 
heads  drooped  in  slumber.  In  only  one  lo- 
cality do  I  find  the  ladies'  slipper,  —  a  yel- 
low variety.  The  flowers  that  overleap  all 
bounds  in  this  section  are  the  houstonias. 
By  the  1st  of  April  they  are  very  noticeable 
in  warm,  damp  places  along  the  borders  of 
the  woods  and  in  half-cleared  fields,  but  by 
May  these  localities  are  clouded  with  them. 
They  become  visible  from  the  highway  across 
wild  fields,  and  look  like  little  puffs  of  smoke 
clinging  close  to  the  ground. 

On  the  1st  of  May  I  go  to  the  Hock  Creek 
or  Piny  Branch  region  to  hear  the  wood- 
thrush.  I  always  find  him  by  this  date  leis- 
urely chanting  his  lofty  strain  ;  other  thrushes 
are  seen  now  also,  or  even  earlier,  as  Wilson's, 
the  olive-backed,  the  hermit,  —  the  two  latter 
silent,  but  the  former  musical. 

Occasionally  in  the  earlier  part  of  May  I 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.      195 

find  the  woods  literally  swarming  with  war- 
blers, exploring  every  branch  and  leaf,  from 
the  tallest  tulip  to  the  lowest  spice-bush,  so 
urgent  is  the  demand  for  food  during  their 
long  Northern  journeys.  At  night  they  are 
up  and  away.  Some  varieties,  as  the  blue 
yellow-back,  the  chestnut-sided,  and  the 
Blackburnian,  during  their  brief  stay,  sing 
nearly  as  freely  as  in  their  breeding  haunts. 
For  two  or  three  years  I  have  chanced  to 
meet  little  companies  of  the  bay-breasted 
warbler,  searching  for  food  in  an  oak  wood 
on  an  elevated  piece  of  ground.  They  kept 
well  up  among  the  branches,  were  rather 
slow  in  their  movements,  and  evidently  dis- 
posed to  tarry  but  a  short  time. 

The  summer  residents  here  belonging  to 
this  class  of  birds  are  few.  I  have  observed 
the  black  and  white  creeping  warbler,  the 
Kentucky  warbler,  the  worm-eating  warbler, 
the  redstart,  and  the  gnat-catcher,  breeding 
near  Rock  Creek. 

Of  these  the  Kentucky  warbler  is  by  far 
the  most  interesting,  though  quite  rare.  I 
meet  with  him  in  low,  damp  places  in  the 
woods,  usually  on  the  steep  sides  of  some 
little  run.  I  hear  at  intervals  a  clear, 
strong,  bell-like  whistle  or  warble,  and  pres- 


196  SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL. 

ently  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  bird  as  he 
jumps  up  from  the  ground  to  take  an  insect 
or  worm  from  the  under  side  of  a  leaf.  Th^s 
is  his  characteristic  movement.  He  belongs 
to  the  class  of  ground  warblers,  and  his 
range  is  very  low  indeed,  lower  than  that  of 
any  other  species  with  which  I  am  acquainted. 
He  is  on  the  ground  nearly  all  the  time,  mov- 
ing rapidly  along,  taking  spiders  and  bugs, 
overturning  leaves,  peeping  under  sticks  and 
into  crevices,  and  every  now  and  then  leap- 
ing up  eight  or  ten  inches,  to  take  his  game 
from  beneath  some  overhanging  leaf  or 
branch.  Thus  each  species  has  its  range 
more  or  less  marked.  Draw  a  line  three 
feet  from  the  ground,  and  you  mark  the 
usual  limit  of  the  Kentucky  warbler's  quest 
for  food.  Six  or  eight  feet  higher  bounds 
the  usual  range  of  such  birds  as  the  worm- 
eating  warbler,  the  mourning  ground  war- 
bler, the  Maryland  yellow-throat.  The  lower 
branches  of  the  higher  growths,  and  the 
higher  branches  of  the  lower  growths,  are 
plainly  preferred  by  the  black-throated  blue- 
backed  warbler,  in  those  localities  where  he 
is  found.  The  thrushes  feed  mostly  on  and 
near  the  ground,  while  some  of  the  vireos 
and  the  true  flycatchers  explore  the  highest 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.      197 

branches.  But  the  Sylviadas,  as  a  rule,  are 
all  partial  to  thick,  rank  undergrowths. 

The  Kentucky  warbler  is  a  large  bird  for 
the  genus,  and  quite  notable  in  appearance. 
His  back  is  clear  olive-green ;  his  throat  and 
breast,  bright  yellow.  A  still  more  promi- 
nent feature  is  a  black  streak  on  the  side  of 
the  face,  extending  down  the  neck. 

Another  familiar  bird  here,  which  I  never 
met  with  in  the  North,  is  the  gnat-catcher, 
called  by  Audubon  the  blue  gray  fly-catching 
warbler.  In  form  and  manner  it  seems 
almost  a  duplicate  of  the  cat-bird,  on  a 
small  scale.  It  mews  like  a  young  kitten, 
erects  its  tail,  flirts,  droops  its  wings,  goes 
through  a  variety  of  motions  when  disturbed 
by  your  presence,  and  in  many  ways  recalls 
its  dusky  prototype.  Its  color  above  is  a 
light,  gray  blue,  gradually  fading  till  it  be- 
comes white  on  the  breast  and  belly.  It  is  a 
very  small  bird,  and  has  a  long,  facile,  slender 
tail.  Its  song  is  a  lisping,  chattering,  inco- 
herent warble,  now  faintly  reminding  one  of 
the  goldfinch,  now  of  a  miniature  cat-bird, 
then  of  a  tiny  yellow-hammer,  having  much 
variety,  but  no  unity,  and  little  cadence. 

Another  bird  which  has  interested  me 
here  is  the  Louisiana  water-thrush,  called 


198  SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL. 

also  large-billed  water-thrush,  and  water- 
wagtail.  It  is  one  of  a  trio  of  birds  which 
has  confused  the  ornithologists  much.  The 
other  two  species  are  the  well-known  golden- 
crowned  thrush  {Seiurus  aurocapillus)  or 
wood-wagtail,  and  the  Northern,  or  small, 
water-thrush  (  Seiurus  noveboracensis). 

The  present  species,  though  not  abundant, 
is  frequently  met  with  along  Rock  Creek. 
It  is  a  very  quick,  vivacious  bird,  and  be- 
longs to  the  class  of  ecstatic  singers.  I  have 
seen  a  pair  of  these  thrushes,  on  a  bright 
May  day,  flying  to  and  fro  between  two 
spring  runs,  alighting  at  intermediate  points, 
the  male  breaking  out  into  one  of  the  most 
exuberant,  unpremeditated  strains  I  ever 
heard.  Its  song  is  a  sudden  burst,  begin- 
ning with  three  or  four  clear  round  notes 
much  resembling  certain  tones  of  the  clario- 
net, and  terminating  in  a  rapid,  intricate 
warble. 

This  bird  resembles  a  thrush  only  in  its 
color,  which  is  olive-brown  above,  and  gray- 
ish-white beneath,  with  speckled  throat  and 
breast.  Its  habits,  manners,  and  voice  sug- 
gest those  of  the  lark. 

I  seldom  go  the  Rock  Creek  route  without 
being  amused  and  sometimes  annoyed  by  the 


SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL.  199 

yellow-breasted  chat.  This  bird  also  has 
something  of  the  manners  and  build  of  the 
cat-bird,  yet  he  is  truly  an  original.  '  The 
cat-bird  is  mild  and  feminine  compared  with 
this  rollicking  polyglot.  His  voice  is  very 
loud  and  strong  and  quite  uncanny.  No 
sooner  have  you  penetrated  his  retreat,  which 
is  usually  a  thick  undergrowth  in  low,  wet 
localities,  near  the  woods  or  in  old  fields, 
than  he  begins  his  serenade,  which  for  the 
variety,  grotesqueness,  and  uncouthness  of 
the  notes,  is  not  unlike  a  country  skimmer- 
ton.  If  one  passes  directly  along,  the  bird 
may  scarcely  break  the  silence.  But  pause 
a  while,  or  loiter  quietly  about,  and  your 
presence  stimulates  him  to  do  his  best.  He 
peeps  quizzically  at  you  from  beneath  the 
branches,  and  gives  a  sharp  feline  mew.  In 
a  moment  more  he  says  very  distinctly,  who, 
who.  Then  in  rapid  succession  follow  notes 
the  most  discordant  that  ever  broke  the  syl- 
van silence.  Now  he  barks  like  a  puppy, 
then  quacks  like  a  duck,  then  rattles  like  a 
kingfisher,  then  squalls  like  a  fox,  then  caws 
like  a  crow,  then  mews  like  a  cat.  Now  he 
calls  as  if  to  be  heard  a  long  way  off,  then 
changes  his  key,  as  if  addressing  the  specta- 
tor. Though  very  shy,  and  carefully  keep- 


200  SPRING  AT  THE   CAPITAL. 

ing  himself  screened  when  you  show  any  dis- 
position to  get  a  better  view,  he  will  pres- 
ently, if  you  remain  quiet,  ascend  a  twig,  or 
hop  out  on  a  branch  in  plain  sight,  lop  his 
tail,  droop  his  wings,  cock  his  head,  and  be- 
come very  melodramatic.  In  less  than  half 
a  minute,  he  darts  into  the  bushes  again,  and 
again  tunes  up,  no  Frenchman  rolling  his  r's 
so  fluently  :  C-r^r-r-r-r,  —  whrr,  —  that 's  it, 
—  chee,  —  quack,  cluck,  —  yit-yit-yit,  —  now 
hit  it,  —  tr-r-v-r,  —  when,  caw,  caw,  —  cut, 
cut,  —  tea-boy,  —  who,  who,  —  mew,  mew,  — 
and  so  on  till  you  are  tired  of  listening. 
Observing  one  very  closely  one  day,  I  dis- 
covered that  he  was  limited  to  six  notes  or 
changes,  which  he  went  through  in  regular 
order,  scarcely  varying  a  note  in  a  dozen 
repetitions.  Sometimes,  when  a  consider- 
able distance  off,  he  will  fly  down  to  have  a 
nearer  view  of  you.  And  such  a  curious, 
expressive  flight,  —  legs  extended,  head  low- 
ered, wings  rapidly  vibrating,  the  whole  ac- 
tion piquant  and  droll ! 

The  chat  is  an  elegant  bird  both  in  form 
and  color.  Its  plumage  is  remarkably  firm 
and  compact.  Color  above,  light  olive- 
green  ;  beneath,  bright  yellow ;  beak,  black 
and  strong. 


SPRJNG  AT  THE  CAPITAL.  201 

The  cardinal  grossbeak,  or  Virginia  red- 
bird,  is  quite  common  in  the  same  localities, 
though  more  inclined  to  seek  the  woods.  It 
is  much  sought  after  by  bird-fanciers,  and 
by  boy  gunners,  and  consequently  is  very 
shy.  This  bird  suggests  a  British  red-coat ; 
his  heavy,  pointed  beak,  his  high  cockade, 
the  black  stripe  down  his  face,  the  expres- 
sion of  weight  and  massiveness  about  his 
head  and  neck,  and  his  erect  attitude,  give 
him  a  decided  soldierlike  appearance ;  and 
there  is  something  of  the  tone  of  the  fife  in 
his  song  or  whistle,  while  his  ordinary  note, 
when  disturbed,  is  like  the  clink  of  a  sabre. 
Yesterday,  as  I  sat  indolently  swinging  in 
the  loop  of  a  grape-vine,  beneath  a  thick 
canopy  of  green  branches,  in  a  secluded  nook 
by  a  spring  run,  one  of  these  birds  came, 
pursuing  some  kind  of  insect,  but  a  few 
feet  above  me.  He  hopped  about,  now  and 
then  uttering  his  sharp  note,  till,  some  moth 
or  beetle  trying  to  escape,  he  broke  down 
through  the  cover  almost  where  I  sat.  The 
effect  was  like  a  firebrand  coming  down 
through  the  branches.  Instantly  catching 
sight  of  me,  he  darted  away  much  alarmed. 
The  female  is  tinged  with  brown,  and  shows 
but  little  red  except  when  she  takes  flight. 


202  SPRING  AT   THE   CAPITAL. 

By  far  the  most  abundant  species  of  wood- 
pecker about  Washington  is  the  red-headed. 
It  is  more  common  than  the  robin.  Not  in 
the  deep  woods,  but  among  the  scattered,  di- 
lapidated oaks  and  groves,  on  the  hills  and 
in  the  fields,  I  hear,  almost  every  day,  his  un- 
canny note,  ktr-rr,  ktr-r-r,  like  that  of  some 
larger  tree-toad,  proceeding  from  an  oak 
grove  just  beyond  the  boundary.  He  is  a 
strong  scented  fellow  and  very  tough.  Yet 
how  beautiful,  as  he  flits  about  the  open 
woods,  connecting  the  trees  by  a  gentle  arc  of 
crimson  and  white !  This  is  another  bird 
with  a  military  look.  His  deliberate,  digni- 
fied ways,  and  his  bright  uniform  of  red, 
white,  and  steel-blue,  bespeak  him  an  officer 
of  rank. 

Another  favorite  beat  of  mine  is  north- 
east of  the  city.  Looking  from  the  Capitol 
in  this  direction,  scarcely  more  than  a  mile 
distant,  you  see  a  broad  green  hill-slope,  fall- 
ing very  gently,  and  spreading  into  a  large 
expanse  of  meadow-land.  The  summit,  if 
so  gentle  a  swell  of  greensward  may  be  said 
to  have  a  summit,  is  covered  with  a  grove  of 
large  oaks ;  and,  sweeping  back  out  of  sight 
like  a  mantle,  the  front  line  of  a  thick  for- 
est  bounds  the  sides.  This  emerald  land- 


SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL.  203 

scape  is  seen  from  a  number  of  points  in 
the  city.  Looking  along  New  York  Avenue 
from  Northern  Liberty  Market,  the  eye 
glances,  as  it  were,  from  the  red  clay  of 
the  street,  and  alights  upon  this  fresh  scene 
in  the  distance.  It  is  a  standing  invitation 
to  the  citizen  to  come  forth  and  be  refreshed. 
As  I  turn  from  some  hot,  hard  street,  how 
inviting  it  looks !  I  bathe  my  eyes  in  it  as 
in  a  fountain.  Sometimes  troops  of  cattle 
are  seen  grazing  upon  it.  In  June  the  gath- 
ering of  the  hay  may  be  witnessed.  When 
the  ground  is  covered  with  snow,  numerous 
stacks,  or  clusters  of  stacks,  are  still  left  for 
the  eye  to  contemplate. 

The  woods  which  clothe  the  east  side  of 
this  hill,  and  sweep  away  to  the  east,  are 
among  the  most  charming  to  be  found  in  the 
District.  The  main  growth  is  oak  and  chest- 
nut, with  a  thin  sprinkling  of  laurel,  azalea, 
and  dogwood.  It  is  the  only  locality  in 
which  I  have  found  the  dog-tooth  violet  in 
bloom,  and  the  best  place  I  know  of  to  gather 
arbutus.  On  one  slope  the  ground  is  covered 
with  moss,  through  which  the  arbutus  trails 
its  glories. 

Emerging  from  these  woods  toward  the 
city,  one  sees  the  white  dome  of  the  Capitol 


204  SPRING  AT  THE  CAPITAL. 

soaring  over  the  green  swell  of  earth  imme- 
diately in  front,  and  lifting  its  four  thousand 
tons  of  iron  gracefully  and  lightly  into  the 
air.  Of  all  the  sights  in  Washington,  that 
which  will  survive  longest  in  my  memory  is 
the  vision  of  the  great  dome  thus  rising  cloud- 
like  above  the  hills. 


BIRCH   BROWSINGS. 

THE  region  of  which  I  am  about  to  speak 
lies  in  the  southern  part  of  the  State  of  New 
York,  and  comprises  parts  of  three  counties, 
—  Ulster,  Sullivan,  and  Delaware.  It  is 
drained  by  tributaries  of  both  the  Hudson 
and  Delaware,  and,  next  to  the  Adiron- 
dac  section,  contains  more  wild  land  than 
any  other  tract  in  the  State.  The  moun- 
tains which  traverse  it  and  impart  to  it  its 
severe  northern  climate  belong  properly  to 
the  Catskill  range.  On  some  maps  of  the 
State  they  are  called  the  Pine  Mountains, 
though  with  obvious  local  impropriety,  as 
pine,  so  far  as  I  have  observed,  is  nowhere 
found  upon  them.  "  Birch  Mountains " 
would  be  a  more  characteristic  name,  as  on 
their  summits  birch  is  the  prevailing  tree. 
They  are  the  natural  home  of  the  black  and 
yellow  birch,  which  grow  here  to  unusual 
size.  On  their  sides,  beech  and  maple 
abound ;  while  mantling  their  lower  slopes, 
and  darkening  the  valleys,  hemlock  formerly 


206  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

enticed  the  lumberman  and  tanner.  Except 
in  remote  or  inaccessible  localities,  the  latter 
tree  is  now  almost  never  found.  In  Shan- 
daken  and  along  the  Esopus,  it  is  about  the 
only  product  the  country  yielded,  or  is  likely 
to  yield.  Tanneries  by  the  score  have  arisen 
and  flourished  upon  the  bark,  and  some  of 
them  still  remain.  Passing  through  that 
region  the  present  season,  I  saw  that  the 
few  patches  of  hemlock  that  still  lingered 
high  up  on  the  sides  of  the  mountains  were 
being  felled  and  peeled,  the  fresh  white 
boles  of  the  trees,  just  stripped  of  their 
bark,  being  visible  a  long  distance. 

Among  these  mountains  there  are  no  sharp 
peaks,  or  abrupt  declivities,  as  in  a  volcanic 
region,  but  long,  uniform  ranges,  heavily 
timbered  to  their  summits,  and  delighting 
the  eye  with  vast,  undulating  horizon  lines. 
Looking  south  from  the  heights  about  the 
head  of  the  Delaware,  one  sees,  twenty  miles 
away,  a  continual  succession  of  blue  ranges, 
one  behind  the  other.  If  a  few  large  trees 
are  missing  on  the  sky  line,  one  can  see  the 
break  a  long  distance  off. 

Approaching  this  region  from  the  Hud- 
son River  side,  you  cross  a  rough,  rolling 
stretch  of  country,  skirting  the  base  of  the 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  207 

Catskills,  which  from  a  point  near  Sauger- 
ties  sweep  inland ;  after  a  drive  of  a  few 
hours,  you  are  within  the  shadow  of  a  high, 
bold  mountain,  which  forms  a  sort  of  but- 
end  to  this  part  of  the  range,  and  which  is 
simply  called  High  Point.  To  the  east  and 
southeast  it  slopes  down  rapidly  to  the  plain, 
and  looks  defiance  toward  the  Hudson, 
twenty  miles  distant ;  in  the  rear  of  it,  and 
radiating  from  it  west  and  northwest,  are 
numerous  smaller  ranges,  backing  up,  as  it 
were,  this  haughty  chief. 

From  this  point  through  to  Pennsylvania, 
a  distance  of  nearly  one  hundred  miles, 
stretches  the  tract  of  which  I  speak.  It  is 
a  belt  of  country  from  twenty  to  thirty  miles 
wide,  bleak  and  wild,  and  but  sparsely  set- 
tled. The  traveller  on  the  New  York  and 
Erie  Railroad  gets  a  glimpse  of  it. 

Many  cold,  rapid  trout  streams,  which 
flow  to  all  points  of  the  compass,  have  their 
source  in  the  small  lakes  and  copious  moun- 
tain springs  of  this  region.  The  names  of 
some  of  them  are  Mill  Brook,  Dry  Brook, 
Willewemack,  Beaver  Kill,  Elk  Bush  Kill, 
Panther  Kill,  Neversink,  Big  Ingin,  and 
Callikoon.  Beaver  Kill  is  the  main  outlet 
on  the  west.  It  joins  the  Delaware  in  the 


208  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

wilds  of  Hancock.  The  Neversink  lays 
open  the  region  to  the  south,  and  also  joins 
the  Delaware.  To  the  east,  various  Kills 
unite  with  the  Big  Ingin  to  form  the  Esopus, 
which  flows  into  the  Hudson.  Dry  Brook 
and  Mill  Brook,  both  famous  trout  streams, 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  miles  long,  find  their 
way  into  the  Delaware. 

The  east  or  Pepacton  branch  of  the  Dela- 
ware itself  takes  its  rise  near  here,  in  a  deep 
pass  between  the  mountains.  I  have  many 
times  drunk  at  a  copious  spring  by  the  road- 
side, where  the  infant  river  first  sees  the 
light.  A  few  yards  beyond,  the  water  flows 
the  other  way,  directing  its  course  through 
the  Bear  Kill  and  Schoharie  Kill  into  the 
Mohawk. 

Such  game  and  wild  animals  as  still  lin- 
ger in  the  State,  are  found  in  this  region. 
Bears  occasionally  make  havoc  among  the 
sheep.  The  clearings  at  the  head  of  a  val- 
ley are  oftenest  the  scene  of  their  depreda- 
tions. 

Wild  pigeons,  in  immense  numbers,  used 
to  breed  regularly  in  the  valley  of  the  Big 
Ingin  and  about  the  head  of  the  Neversink 
The  tree-tops  for  miles  were  full  of  their 
nests,  while  the  going  and  coming  of  the 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  209 

old  birds  kept  up  a  constant  din.  But  the 
gunners  soon  got  wind  of  it,  and  from  far 
and  near  were  wont  to  pour  in  during  the 
spring,  and  to  slaughter  both  old  and  young. 
This  practice  soon  had  the  effect  of  driving 
the  pigeons  all  away,  and  now  only  a  few 
pairs  breed  in  these  woods. 

Deer  are  still  met  with,  though  they  are  be- 
coming scarcer  every  year.  Last  winter  near 
seventy  head  were  killed  on  the  Beaver  Kill 
alone.  I  heard  of  one  wretch,  who,  finding 
the  deer  snowbound,  walked  up  to  them  on 
his  snowshoes,  and  one  morning  before  break- 
fast slaughtered  six,  leaving  their  carcasses 
where  they  fell.  There  are  traditions  of  per- 
sons having  been  smitten  blind  or  senseless 
when  about  to  commit  some  heinous  offence, 
but  the  fact  that  this  villain  escaped  without 
some  such  visitation  throws  discredit  on  all 
such  stories. 

The  great  attraction,  however,  of  this  re- 
gion, is  the  brook  trout,  with  which  the 
streams  and  lakes  abound.  The  water  is  of 
excessive  coldness,  the  thermometer  indicat- 
ing 44°  and  45°  in  the  springs,  and  47°  or 
48°  in  the  smaller  streams.  The  trout  are 
generally  small,  but  in  the  more  remote 
branches  their  number  is  very  great.  In 


210  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

such  localities  the  fish  are  quite  black,  but 
in  the  lakes  they  are  of  a  lustre  and  bril- 
liancy impossible  to  describe. 

These  waters  have  been  much  visited  of 
late  years  by  fishing  parties,  and  the  name 
of  Beaver  Kill  is  now  a  potent  word  among 
New  York  sportsmen. 

One  lake,  in  the  wilds  of  Callikoon, 
abounds  in  a  peculiar  species  of  white  sucker, 
which  is  of  excellent  quality.  It  is  taken 
only  in  spring,  during  the  spawning  season, 
at  the  time  "  when  the  leaves  are  as  big  as 
a  chipmunk's  ears."  The  fish  run  up  the 
small  streams  and  inlets,  beginning  at  night- 
fall, and  continuing  until  the  channel  is 
literally  packed  with  them,  and  every  inch 
of  space  is  occupied.  The  fishermen  pounce 
upon  them  at  such  times,  and  scoop  them  up 
by  the  bushel,  usually  wading  right  into  the 
living  mass,  and  landing  the  fish  with  their 
hands.  A  small  party  will  often  secure  in 
this  manner  a  wagon  load  of  fish.  Certain 
conditions  of  the  weather,  as  a  warm  south 
or  southwest  wind,  are  considered  most  favor- 
able for  the  fish  to  run. 

Though  familiar  all  my  life  with  the  out- 
skirts of  this  region,  I  have  only  twice 
dipped  into  its  wilder  portions.  Once  in 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  211 

1860  a  friend  and  myself  traced  the  Beaver 
Kill  to  its  source,  and  encamped  by  Balsam 
Lake.  A  cold,  protracted  rain  storm  com- 
ing on,  we  were  obliged  to  leave  the  woods 
before  we  were  ready.  Neither  of  us  will 
soon  forget  that  tramp  by  an  unknown  route 
over  the  mountains,  encumbered  as  we  were 
with  a  hundred  and  one  superfluities  which 
we  had  foolishly  brought  along  to  solace  our- 
selves with  in  the  woods ;  nor  that  halt  on 
the  summit,  where  we  cooked  and  ate  our 
fish  in  a  drizzling  rain ;  nor,  again,  that  rude 
log-house,  with  its  sweet  hospitality,  which 
we  reached  just  at  nightfall  on  Mill  Brook. 

In  1868  a  party  of  three  of  us  set  out  for 
a  brief  trouting  excursion,  to  a  body  of  water 
called  Thomas's  Lake,  situated  in  the  same 
chain  of  mountains.  On  this  excursion, 
more  particularly  than  on  any  other  I  have 
ever  undertaken,  I  was  taught  how  poor  an 
Indian  I  should  make,  and  what  a  ridiculous 
figure  a  party  of  men  may  cut  in  the  woods 
when  the  way  is  uncertain  and  the  moun- 
tains high. 

We  left  our  team  at  a  farm-house  near 
the  head  of  the  Mill  Brook,  oue  June  after- 
noon, and  with  knapsacks  on  our  shoulders 
struck  into  the  woods  at  the  base  of  the 


212  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

mountain,  hoping  to  cross  the  range  that  in- 
tervened between  us  and  the  lake  by  sunset. 
We  engaged  a  good-natured,  but  rather  in- 
dolent, young  man,  who  happened  to  be  stop- 
ping at  the  house,  and  who  had  carried  a 
knapsack  in  the  Union  armies,  to  pilot  us 
a  couple  of  miles  into  the  woods  so  as  to 
guard  against  any  mistakes  at  the  outset. 
It  seemed  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to 
find  the  lake.  The  lay  of  the  land  was  so 
simple,  according  to  accounts,  that  I  felt 
sure  I  could  go  to  it  in  the  dark.  "  Go  up 
this  little  brook  to  its  source  on  the  side  of 
the  mountain,"  they  said.  "  The  valley  that 
contains  the  lake  heads  directly  on  the  other 
side."  What  could  be  easier!  But  on  a 
little  further  inquiry  they  said  we  should 
"  bear  well  to  the  left "  when  we  reached  the 
top  of  the  mountain.  This  opened  the  doors 
again ;  "  bearing  well  to  the  left "  was  an  un- 
certain performance  in  strange  woods.  We 
might  bear  so  well  to  the  left  that  it  would 
bring  us  ill.  But  why  bear  to  the  left  at  all, 
if  the  lake  was  directly  opposite  ?  Well,  not 
quite  opposite ;  a  little  to  the  left.  There 
were  two  or  three  other  valleys  that  headed 
in  near  there.  We  could  easily  find  the 
right  one.  But  to  make  assurance  doubly 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  213 

sure,  we  engaged  a  guide,  as  stated,  to  give 
us  a  good  start,  and  go  with  us  beyond  the 
bearing-to-the-left  point.  He  had  been  to 
the  lake  the  winter  before,  and  knew  the 
way.  Our  course,  the  first  half-hour,  was 
along  an  obscure  wood-road  which  had  been 
used  for  drawing  ash  logs  off  the  mountain 
in  winter.  There  was  some  hemlock,  but 
more  maple  and  birch.  The  woods  were 
dense  and  free  from  underbrush,  the  ascent 
gradual.  Most  of  the  way  we  kept  the  voice 
of  the  creek  in  our  ear  on  the  right.  I  ap- 
proached it  once,  and  found  it  swarming 
with  trout.  The  water  was  as  cold  as  one 
ever  need  wish.  After  a  while  the  ascent 
grew  steeper,  the  creek  became  a  mere  rill 
that  issued  from  beneath  loose,  moss-covered 
rocks  and  stones,  and  with  much  labor  and 
puffing  we  drew  ourselves  up  the  rugged 
declivity.  Every  mountain  has  its  steepest 
point,  which  is  usually  near  the  summit,  in 
keeping,  I  suppose,  with  the  providence  that 
makes  the  darkest  hour  just  before  day.  It 
is  steep,  steeper,  steepest,  till  you  emerge  on 
the  smooth,  level  or  gently  rounded  space  at 
the  top,  which  the  old  ice-gods  polished  off 
so  long  ago. 

We  found  this  mountain  had  a  hollow  in 


214  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

its  back,  where  the  ground  was  soft  and 
swampy.  Some  gigantic  ferns  which  we 
passed  through  came  nearly  to  our  shoulders. 
We  passed  also  several  patches  of  swamp 
honeysuckles,  red  with  blossoms. 

Our  guide  at  length  paused  on  a  big  rock 
where  the  land  began  to  dip  down  the  other 
way,  and  concluded  that  he  had  gone  far 
enough,  and  that  we  would  now  have  no  dif- 
ficulty in  finding  the  lake.  "  It  must  lie 
right  down  there,"  he  said,  pointing  with  his 
hand.  But  it  was  plain  that  he  was  not 
quite  sure  in  his  own  mind.  He  had  several 
times  wavered  in  his  course,  and  had  shown 
considerable  embarrassment  when  bearing  to 
the  left  across  the  summit.  Still  we  thought 
little  of  it.  We  were  full  of  confidence,  and, 
bidding  him  adieu,  plunged  down  the  moun- 
tain side,  following  a  spring  run  that  we  had 
no  doubt  led  to  the  lake. 

In  these  woods,  which  had  a  southeastern 
exposure,  I  first  began  to  notice  the  wood- 
thrush.  In  coming  up  the  other  side,  I  had 
not  seen  a  feather  of  any  kind,  or  heard 
a  note.  Now  the  golden  trillide-de  of  the 
wood-thrush  sounded  through  the  silent 
woods.  While  looking  for  a  fish-pole  about 
half-way  down  the  mountain,  I  saw  a  thrush's 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  215 

nest  in  a  little  sapling  about  ten  feet  from 
the  ground. 

After  continuing  our  descent  till  our  only 
guide,  the  spring  run,  became  quite  a  trout 
brook,  and  its  tiny  murmur  a  loud  brawl,  we 
began  to  peer  anxiously  through  the  trees 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  lake,  or  for  some  con- 
formation of  the  land  that  would  indicate 
its  proximity.  An  object  which  we  vaguely 
discerned  in  looking  under  the  near  trees 
and  over  the  more  distant  ones  proved,  on 
further  inspection,  to  be  a  patch  of  ploughed 
ground.  Presently  we  made  out  a  burnt 
fallow  near  it.  This  was  a  wet  blanket  to 
our  enthusiasm.  No  lake,  no  sport,  no  trout 
for  supper  that  night.  The  rather  indolent 
young  man  had  either  played  us  a  trick,  or, 
as  seemed  more  likely,  had  missed  the  way. 
We  were  particularly  anxious  to  be  at  the 
lake  between  sundown  and  dark,  as  at  that 
time  the  trout  jump  most  freely. 

Pushing  on,  we  soon  emerged  into  a  stumpy 
field,  at  the  head  of  a  steep  valley,  which 
swept  around  toward  the  west.  About  two 
hundred  rods  below  us  was  a  rude  log-house, 
with  smoke  issuing  from  the  chimney.  A 
boy  came  out,  and  moved  toward  the  spring 
with  a  pail  in  his  hand.  We  shouted  to  him, 


216  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

when  he  turned  and  ran  back  into  the  house 
without  pausing  to  reply.  In  a  moment  the 
whole  family  hastily  rushed  into  the  yard, 
and  turned  their  faces  toward  us.  If  we 
had  come  down  their  chimney,  they  could 
not  have  seemed  more  astonished.  Not  mak- 
ing out  what  they  said,  I  went  down  to  the 
house,  and  learned  to  my  chagrin  that  we 
were  still  on  the  Mill  Brook  side,  having 
crossed  only  a  spur  of  the  mountain.  We 
had  not  borne  sufficiently  to  the  left,  so  that 
the  main  range,  which  at  the  point  of  cross- 
ing suddenly  breaks  off  to  the  southeast, 
still  intervened  between  us  and  the  lake. 
We  were  about  five  miles,  as  the  water  runs, 
from  the  point  of  starting,  and  over  two 
from  the  lake.  We  must  go  directly  back 
to  the  top  of  the  range  where  the  guide  had 
left  us,  and  then,  by  keeping  well  to  the  left, 
we  would  soon  come  to  a  line  of  marked 
trees,  which  would  lead  us  to  the  lake.  So 
turning  upon  our  trail,  we  doggedly  began 
the  work  of  undoing  what  we  had  just  done, 
—  in  all  cases  a  disagreeable  task,  in  this 
case  a  very  laborious  one  also.  It  was  after 
sunset  when  we  turned  back,  and  before  we 
had  got  half-way  up  the  mountain  it  began 
to  be  quite  dark.  We  were  often  obliged  to 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  217 

rest  our  packs  against  trees  and  take  breath, 
which  made  our  progress  slow.  Finally  a 
halt  was  called  beside  an  immense  flat  rock 
which  had  paused  in  its  slide  down  the  moun- 
tain, and  we  prepared  to  camp  for  the  night. 
A  fire  was  built,  the  rock  cleared  off,  a  small 
ration  of  bread  served  out,  our  accoutrements 
hung  up  out  of  the  way  of  the  hedgehogs 
that  were  supposed  to  infest  the  locality,  and 
then  we  disposed  ourselves  for  sleep.  If  the 
owls  or  porcupines  (and  I  think  I  heard  one 
of  the  latter  in  the  middle  of  the  night)  rec- 
onnoitred our  camp,  they  saw  a  buffalo  robe 
spread  upon  a  rock,  with  three  old  felt  hats 
arranged  on  one  side,  and  three  pairs  of 
sorry-looking  cowhide  boots  protruding  from 
the  other. 

When  we  lay  down,  there  was  apparently 
not  a  mosquito  in  the  woods ;  but  the  "  no- 
see-ems,"  as  Thoreau's  Indian  aptly  named 
the  midges,  soon  found  us  out,  and  after  the 
fire  had  gone  down  annoyed  us  much.  My 
hands  and  wrists  suddenly  began  to  smart 
and  itch  in  a  most  unaccountable  manner. 
My  first  thought  was  that  they  had  been 
poisoned  in  some  way.  Then  the  smarting 
extended  to  my  neck  and  face,  even  to  my 
scalp,  when  I  began  to  suspect  what  was  the 


218  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

matter.  So  wrapping  myself  up  more  thor- 
oughly, and  stowing  my  hands  away  as  best 
I  could,  I  tried  to  sleep,  being  some  time 
behind  my  companions,  who  appeared  not  to 
mind  the  "no-see-ems."  I  was  further  an- 
noyed by  some  little  irregularity  on  my  side 
of  the  couch.  The  chambermaid  had  not 
beaten  it  up  well.  One  huge  lump  refused 
to  be  mollified,  and  each  attempt  to  adapt 
it  to  some  natural  hollow  in  my  own  body 
brought  only  a  moment's  relief.  But  at  last 
I  got  the  better  of  this  also,  and  slept.  Late 
in  the  night  I  woke  up,  just  in  time  to  hear 
a  golden-crowned  thrush  sing  in  a  tree  near 
by.  It  sang  as  loud  and  cheerily  as  at  mid- 
day, and  I  thought  myself,  after  all,  quite 
in  luck.  Birds  occasionally  sing  at  night, 
just  as  the  cock  crows.  I  have  heard  the 
hair-bird,  and  the  note  of  the  king-bird ; 
and  the  ruffed  grouse  frequently  drums  at 
night. 

At  the  first  faint  signs  of  day,  a  wood- 
thrush  sang  a  few  rods  below  us.  Then 
after  a  little  delay,  as  the  gray  light  began  to 
grow  around,  thrushes  broke  out  in  full  song 
in  all  parts  of  the  woods.  I  thought  I  had 
never  before  heard  them  sing  so  sweetly. 
Such  a  leisurely,  golden  chant !  —  it  consoled 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  219 

us  for  all  we  had  undergone.  It  was  the 
first  thing  in  order,  —  the  worms  were  safe 
till  after  this  morning  chorus.  I  judged  that 
the  birds  roosted  but  a  few  feet  from  the 
ground.  In  fact,  a  bird  in  all  cases  roosts 
where  it  builds,  and  the  wood-thrush  occu- 
pies, as  it  were,  the  first  story  of  the  woods. 

There  is  something  singular  about  the  dis- 
tribution of  the  wood-thrushes.  At  an  earlier 
stage  of  my  observations,  I  should  have  been 
much  surprised  at  finding  it  in  these  woods. 
Indeed,  I  had  stated  in  print  on  two  occasions 
that  the  wood-thrush  was  not  found  in  the 
higher  lands  of  the  Catskills,  but  that  the 
hermit-thrush  and  the  veery,  or  Wilson's 
thrush,  were  common.  It  turns  out  that  this 
statement  is  only  half  true.  The  wood- 
thrush  is  found  also,  but  is  much  more  rare 
and  secluded  in  its  habits  than  either  of  the 
others,  being  seen  only  during  the  breeding 
season  on  remote  mountains,  and  then  only 
on  their  eastern  and  southern  slopes.  I  have 
never  yet  in  this  region  found  the  bird  spend- 
ing the  season  in  the  near  and  familiar  woods, 
which  is  directly  contrary  to  observations  I 
have  made  in  other  parts  of  the  State.  So 
different  are  the  habits  of  birds  in  different 
localities. 


220  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

As  soon  as  it  was  fairly  light  we  were  up 
and  ready  to  resume  our  march.  A  small 
bit  of  bread-and-butter  and  a  swallow  or  two 
of  whiskey  was  all  we  had  for  breakfast  that 
morning.  Our  supply  of  each  was  very  lim- 
ited, and  we  were  anxious  to  save  a  little  of 
both,  to  relieve  the  diet  of  trout  to  which  we 
looked  forward. 

At  an  early  hour  we  reached  the  rock 
where  we  had  parted  with  the  guide,  and 
looked  around  us  into  the  dense,  trackless 
woods  with  many  misgivings.  To  strike  out 
now  on  our  own  hook,  where  the  way  was  so 
blind,  and  after  the  experience  we  had  just 
had,  was  a  step  not  to  be  carelessly  taken. 
The  tops  of  these  mountains  are  so  broad, 
and  a  short  distance  in  the  woods  seems  so 
far,  that  one  is  by  no  means  master  of  the 
situation  after  reaching  the  summit.  And 
then  there  are  so  many  spurs  and  offshoots 
and  changes  of  direction,  added  to  the  im- 
possibility of  making  any  generalization  by 
the  aid  of  the  eye,  that  before  one  is  aware 
of  it,  he  is  very  wide  of  his  mark. 

I  remembered  now  that  a  young  farmer  of 
my  acquaintance  had  told  me  how  he  had 
made  a  long  day's  march  through  the  heart 
of  this  region,  without  path  or  guide  of  any 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  221 

kind,  and  had  hit  his  mark  squarely.  He 
had  been  bark-peeling  in  Callikoon,  —  a 
famous  country  for  bark,  —  and,  having  got 
enough  of  it,  he  desired  to  reach  his  home 
on  Dry  Brook  without  making  the  usual 
circuitous  journey  between  the  two  places. 
To  do  this  necessitated  a  march  of  ten  or 
twelve  miles  across  several  ranges  of  moun- 
tains and  through  an  unbroken  forest, — 
a  hazardous  undertaking  in  which  no  one 
would  join  him.  Even  the  old  hunters  who 
were  familiar  with  the  ground  dissuaded  him, 
and  predicted  the  failure  of  his  enterprise. 
But  having  made  up  his  mind,  he  possessed 
himself  thoroughly  of  the  topography  of  the 
country  from  the  aforesaid  hunters,  shoul- 
dered his  axe,  and  set  out,  holding  a  straight 
course  through  the  woods,  and  turning  aside 
for  neither  swamps,  streams,  nor  mountains. 
When  he  paused  to  rest,  he  would  mark 
some  object  ahead  of  him  with  his  eye,  in 
order  that  on  getting  up  again  he  might  not 
deviate  from  his  course.  His  directors  had 
told  him  of  a  hunter's  cabin  about  midway 
on  his  route,  which  if  he  struck  he  might  be 
sure  he  was  right.  About  noon  this  cabin 
was  reached,  and  at  sunset  he  emerged  at 
the  head  of  Dry  Brook. 


222  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

After  looking  in  vain  for  the  line  of 
marked  trees,  we  moved  off  to  the  left  in  a 
doubtful,  hesitating  manner,  keeping  on  the 
highest  ground,  and  blazing  the  trees  as  we 
went.  We  were  afraid  to  go  down  hill,  lest 
we  should  descend  too  soon ;  our  vantage- 
ground  was  high  ground.  A  thick  fog 
coming  on,  we  were  more  bewildered  than 
ever.  Still  we  pressed  forward,  climbing 
up  ledges,  and  wading  through  ferns  for 
about  two  hours,  when  we  paused  by  a  spring 
that  issued  from  beneath  an  immense  wall 
of  rock  that  belted  the  highest  part  of  the 
mountain.  There  was  quite  a  broad  plateau 
here,  and  the  birch  wood  was  very  dense, 
and  the  trees  of  unusual  size. 

After  resting  and  exchanging  opinions,  we 
all  concluded  that  it  was  best  not  to  con- 
tinue our  search  encumbered  as  we  were ; 
but  we  were  not  willing  to  abandon  it  al- 
together, and  I  proposed  to  my  companions 
to  leave  them  beside  the  spring  with  our 
traps,  while  I  made  one  thorough  and  final 
effort  to  find  the  lake.  If  I  succeeded  and 
desired  them  to  come  forward,  I  was  to  fire 
my  gun  three  times  ;  if  I  failed  and  wished 
to  return,  I  would  fire  it  twice,  they,  of 
course,  responding. 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  223 

So  filling  my  canteen  from  the  spring,  I 
set  out  again,  taking  the  spring  run  for  my 
guide.  Before  I  had  followed  it  two  hundred 
yards,  it  sank  into  the  ground  at  my  feet.  I 
had  half  a  mind  to  be  superstitious,  and  to 
believe  that  we  were  under  a  spell,  since  our 
guides  played  us  such  tricks.  However,  I 
determined  to  put  the  matter  to  a  further 
test,  and  struck  out  boldly  to  the  left.  This 
seemed  to  be  the  keyword,  —  to  the  left,  to 
the  left.  The  fog  had  now  lifted,  so  that  I 
could  form  a  better  idea  of  the  lay  of  the 
land.  Twice  I  looked  down  the  steep  sides 
of  the  mountain,  sorely  tempted  to  risk  a 
plunge.  Still  I  hesitated,  and  kept  along 
on  the  brink.  As  I  stood  on  a  rock  deliber- 
ating, I  heard  a  crackling  of  the  brush,  like 
the  tread  of  some  large  game,  on  a  plateau 
below  me.  Suspecting  the  truth  of  the 
case,  I  moved  stealthily  down,  and  found 
a  herd  of  young  cattle  leisurely  browsing. 
We  had  several  tunes  crossed  their  trail,  and 
had  seen  that  morning  a  level,  grassy  place 
on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  they  had 
passed  the  night.  Instead  of  being  fright- 
ened, as  I  had  expected,  they  seemed  greatly 
delighted,  and  gathered  around  me  as  if  to 
inquire  the  tidings  from  the  outer  world,  — • 


224  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

perhaps  the  quotations  of  the  cattle  market. 
They  came  up  to  me,  and  eagerly  licked  my 
hand,  clothes,  and  gun.  Salt  was  what  they 
were  after,  and  they  were  ready  to  swallow 
anything  that  contained  the  smallest  percent- 
age of  it.  They  were  mostly  yearlings,  and 
as  sleek  as  moles.  They  had  a  very  gamy 
look.  We  were  afterwards  told  that,  in  the 
spring,  the  farmers  round  about  turn  into 
these  woods  their  young  cattle,  which  do 
not  come  out  again  till  fall.  They  are  then 
in  good  condition,  —  not  fat,  like  grass-fed 
cattle,  but  trim  and  supple,  like  deer.  Once 
a  month  the  owner  hunts  them  up  and  salts 
them.  They  have  their  beats,  and  seldom 
wander  beyond  well-defined  limits.  It  was 
interesting  to  see  them  feed.  They  browsed 
on  the  low  limbs  and  bushes,  and  on  the 
various  plants,  munching  at  everything  with- 
out any  apparent  discrimination. 

They  attempted  to  follow  me,  but  I  escaped 
them  by  clambering  down  some  steep  rocks. 
I  now  found  myself  gradually  edging  down 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  keeping  around  it 
in  a  spiral  manner,  and  scanning  the  woods 
and  the  shape  of  the  ground  for  some  en- 
couraging hint  or  sign.  Finally  the  woods 
became  more  open,  and  the  descent  less 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  225 

rapid.  The  trees  were  remarkably  straight 
and  uniform  in  size.  Black  birches,  the  first 
I  had  seen,  were  very  numerous.  I  felt  en- 
couraged. Listening  attentively,  I  caught 
from  a  breeze  just  lifting  the  drooping 
leaves  a  sound  that  I  willingly  believed 
was  made  by  a  bull-frog.  On  this  hint,  I 
tore  down  through  the  woods  at  my  highest 
speed.  Then  I  paused  and  listened  again. 
This  time  there  was  no  mistaking  it ;  it  was 
the  sound  of  frogs.  Much  elated,  I  rushed 
on.  By  and  by  I  could  hear  them  as  I  ran. 
Pthrung,  pthrung,  croaked  the  old  ones; 
pug,  pug,  shrilly  joined  in  the  smaller  fry. 

Then  I  caught,  through  the  lower  trees,  a 
gleam  of  blue,  which  I  first  thought  was  dis- 
tant sky.  A  second  look,  and  I  knew  it  to 
be  water,  and  in  a  moment  more  I  stepped 
from  the  woods,  and  stood  upon  the  shore  of 
the  lake.  I  exulted  silently.  There  it  was 
at  last,  sparkling  in  the  morning  sun,  and 
as  beautiful  as  a  dream.  It  was  so  good  to 
come  upon  such  open  space  and  such  bright 
hues,  after  wandering  in  the  dim,  dense 
woods!  The  eye  is  as  delighted  as  an  es- 
caped bird,  and  darts  gleefully  from  point 
to  point. 

The  lake  was  a  long  oval,  scarcely  more 


226  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

than  a  mile  in  circumference,  with  evenly 
wooded  shores,  which  rose  gradually  on  all 
sides.  After  contemplating  the  scene  for  a 
moment,  I  stepped  back  into  the  woods,  and 
loading  my  gun  as  heavily  as  I  dared,  dis- 
charged it  three  times.  The  reports  seemed 
to  fill  all  the  mountains  with  sound.  The 
frogs  quickly  hushed,  and  I  listened  for  the 
response.  But  no  response  came.  Then  I 
tried  again,  and  again,  but  without  evoking 
an  answer.  One  of  my  companions,  how- 
ever, who  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  high 
rocks  in  the  rear  of  the  spring,  thought  he 
heard  faintly  one  report.  It  seemed  an  im- 
mense distance  below  him,  and  far  around 
under  the  mountain.  I  knew  I  had  come 
a  long  way,  and  hardly  expected  to  be  able  to 
communicate  with  my  companions  in  the 
manner  agreed  upon.  I  therefore  started 
back,  choosing  my  course  without  any  refer- 
ence to  the  circuitous  route  by  which  I  had 
come,  and  loading  heavily  and  firing  at  in- 
tervals. I  must  have  aroused  many  long- 
dormant  echoes  from  a  Rip  Van  Winkle 
sleep.  As  my  powder  got  low,  I  fired  and 
hallooed  alternately,  till  I  came  near  splitting 
both  my  throat  and  my  gun.  Finally,  after 
I  had  begun  to  have  a  very  ugly  feeling  of 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  227 

alarm  and  disappointment,  and  to  cast  about 
vaguely  for  some  course  to  pursue  in  the 
emergency  that  seemed  near  at  hand, — 
namely,  the  loss  of  my  companions  now  I 
had  found  the  lake,  —  a  favoring  breeze 
brought  me  the  last  echo  of  a  response.  I 
rejoined  with  spirit,  and  hastened  with  all 
speed  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  had 
come,  but  after  repeated  trials,  failed  to  elicit 
another  answering  sound.  This  filled  me 
with  apprehension  again.  I  feared  that  my 
friends  had  been  misled  by  the  reverbera- 
tions, and  I  pictured  them  to  myself  has- 
tening in  the  opposite  direction.  Paying 
little  attention  to  my  course,  but  paying 
dearly  for  my  carelessness  afterward,  I 
rushed  forward  to  undeceive  them.  But 
they  had  not  been  deceived,  and  in  a  few 
moments  an  answering  shout  revealed  them 
near  at  hand.  I  heard  their  tramp,  the 
bushes  parted,  and  we  three  met  again. 

In  answer  to  their  inquiries,  I  assured  them 
that  I  had  seen  the  lake ;  that  it  was  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,  and  that  we  could 
not  miss  it  if  we  kept  straight  down  from 
where  we  then  were. 

My  clothes  were  soaked  with  perspiration, 
but  I  shouldered  my  knapsack  with  alacrity, 


228  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

and  we  began  the  descent.  I  noticed  that 
the  woods  were  much  thicker,  and  had  quite 
a  different  look  from  those  I  had  passed 
through,  but  thought  nothing  of  it,  as  I 
expected  to  strike  the  lake  near  its  head, 
whereas  I  had  before  come  out  at  its  foot. 
We  had  not  gone  far  when  we  crossed  a  line 
of  marked  trees,  which  my  companions  were 
disposed  to  follow.  It  intersected  our  course 
nearly  at  right  angles,  and  kept  along  and 
up  the  side  of  the  mountain.  My  impres- 
sion was  that  it  led  up  from  the  lake,  and 
that  by  keeping  our  own  course  we  should 
reach  the  lake  sooner  than  if  we  followed 
this  line. 

About  half-way  down  the  mountain,  we 
could  see  through  the  interstices  the  opposite 
slope.  I  encouraged  my  comrades  by  telling 
them  that  the  lake  was  between  us  and  that, 
and  not  more  than  half  a  mile  distant.  We 
soon  reached  the  bottom,  where  we  found  a 
small  stream  and  quite  an  extensive  alder- 
swamp,  evidently  the  ancient  bed  of  a  lake. 
I  explained  to  my  half -vexed  and  half -in- 
credulous companions  that  we  were  probably 
above  the  lake,  and  that  this  stream  must 
lead  to  it.  "  Follow  it,"  they  said  ;  "  we  will 
wait  here  till  we  hear  from  you." 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  229 

So  I  went  on,  more  than  ever  disposed  to 
believe  that  we  were  under  a  spell,  and  that 
the  lake  had  slipped  from  my  grasp  after  all. 
Seeing  no  favorable  sign  as  I  went  forward, 
I  laid  down  my  accoutrements,  and  climbed 
a  decayed  beech  that  leaned  out  over  the 
swamp  and  promised  a  good  view  from  the 
top.  As  I  stretched  myself  up  to  look  around 
from  the  highest  attainable  branch,  there 
was  suddenly  a  loud  crack  at  the  root.  With 
a  celerity  that  would  at  least  have  done 
credit  to  a  bear,  I  regained  the  ground,  hav- 
ing caught  but  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the 
country,  but  enough  to  convince  me  no  lake 
was  near.  Leaving  all  incumbrances  here 
but  my  gun,  I  still  pressed  on,  loath  to  be 
thus  baffled.  After  floundering  through 
another  alder-swamp  for  nearly  half  a  mile, 
I  flattered  myself  that  I  was  close  on  to  the 
lake.  I  caught  sight  of  a  low  spur  of  the 
mountain  sweeping  around  like  a  half  ex- 
tended arm,  and  I  fondly  imagined  that 
within  its  clasp  was  the  object  of  my  search. 
But  I  found  only  more  alder-swamp.  After 
this  region  was  cleared,  the  creek  began  to 
descend  the  mountain  very  rapidly.  Its 
banks  became  high  and  narrow,  and  it  went 
whirling  away  with  a  sound  that  seemed  to 


230  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

my  ears  like  a  burst  of  ironical  laughter. 
I  turned  back  with  a  feeling  of  mingled  dis- 
gust, shame,  and  vexation.  In  fact,  I  was 
almost  sick,  and  when  I  reached  my  com- 
panions, after  an  absence  of  nearly  two  hours, 
hungry,  fatigued,  and  disheartened,  I  would 
have  sold  my  interest  in  Thomas's  Lake  at  a 
very  low  figure.  For  the  first  time,  I  heart- 
ily wished  myself  well  out  of  the  woods. 
Thomas  might  keep  his  lake,  and  the  en- 
chanters guard  his  possession !  I  doubted  if 
he  had  ever  found  it  the  second  time,  or  if 
any  one  else  ever  had. 

My  companions,  who  were  quite  fresh,  and 
who  had  not  felt  the  strain  of  baffled  pur- 
pose as  I  had,  assumed  a  more  encouraging 
tone.  After  I  had  rested  a  while,  and  par- 
taken sparingly  of  the  bread  and  whiskey, 
which  in  such  an  emergency  is  a  great  im- 
provement on  bread  and  water,  I  agreed  to 
their  proposition  that  we  should  make  an- 
other attempt.  As  if  to  reassure  us,  a  robin 
sounded  his  cheery  call  near  by,  and  the 
winter-wren,  the  first  I  had  heard  in  these 
woods,  set  his  music-box  going,  which  fairly 
ran  over  with  fine,  gushing,  lyrical  sounds. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  but  this  bird  is  one 
of  our  finest  songsters.  If  it  would  only 


BIRCH  BRO  WSIN03.  231 

thrive  and  sing  well  when  caged,  like  the 
canary,  how  far  it  would  surpass  that  bird  ! 
It  has  all  the  vivacity  and  versatility  of  the 
canary,  without  any  of  its  shrillness.  Its 
song  is  indeed  a  little  cascade  of  melody. 

We  again  retraced  our  steps,  rolling  the 
stone,  as  it  were,  back  up  the  mountain,  de- 
termined to  commit  ourselves  to  the  line  of 
marked  trees.  These  we  finally  reached,  and, 
after  exploring  the  country  to  the  right,  saw 
that  bearing  to  the  left  was  still  the  order. 
The  trail  led  up  over  a  gentle  rise  of  ground, 
and  in  less  than  twenty  minutes  we  were  in 
the  woods  I  had  passed  through  when  I 
found  the  lake.  The  error  I  had  made  was 
then  plain :  we  had  come  off  the  mountain  a 
few  paces  too  far  to  the  right,  and  so  had 
passed  down  the  wrong  side  of  the  ridge, 
into  what  we  afterwards  learned  was  the  val- 
ley of  Alder  Creek. 

We  now  made  good  time,  and  before 
many  minutes  I  again  saw  the  mimic  sky 
glance  through  the  trees.  As  we  approached 
the  lake,  a  solitary  woodchuck,  the  first  wild 
animal  we  had  seen  since  entering  the  woods, 
sat  crouched  upon  the  root  of  a  tree  a  few 
feet  from  the  water,  apparently  completely 
nonplussed  by  the  unexpected  appearance  of 


232  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

danger  on  the  land  side.  All  retreat  was 
cut  off,  and  he  looked  his  fate  in  the  face 
without  flinching.  I  slaughtered  him  just  as 
a  savage  would  have  done  and  from  the  same 
motive,  —  I  wanted  his  carcass  to  eat. 

The  mid-afternoon  sun  was  now  shining 
upon  the  lake,  and  a  low,  steady  breeze  drove 
the  little  waves  rocking  to  the  shore.  A 
herd  of  cattle  were  browsing  on  the  other 
side,  and  the  bell  of  the  leader  sounded 
across  the  water.  In  these  solitudes  its 
clang  was  wild  and  musical. 

To  try  the  trout  was  the  first  thing  in  or- 
der. On  a  rude  raft  of  logs  which  we  found 
moored  at  the  shore,  and  which  with  two 
aboard  shipped  about  a  foot  of  water,  we 
floated  out  and  wet  our  first  fly  in  Thomas's 
Lake ;  but  the  trout  refused  to  jump,  and,  to 
be  frank,  not  more  than  a  dozen  and  a  half 
were  caught  during  our  stay.  Only  a  week 
previous,  a  party  of  three  had  taken  in  a 
few  hours  all  the  fish  they  could  carry  out  of 
the  woods,  and  had  nearly  surfeited  their 
neighbors  with  trout.  But  from  some  cause 
they  now  refused  to  rise,  or  to  touch  any 
kind  of  bait :  so  we  fell  to  catching  the  sun- 
fish,  which  were  small  but  very  abundant. 
Their  nests  were  all  along  shore.  A  space 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  233 

about  the  size  of  a  breakfast  -  plate  was 
cleared  of  sediment  and  decayed  vegetable 
matter,  revealing  the  pebbly  bottom,  fresh 
and  bright,  with  one  or  two  fish  suspended 
over  the  centre  of  it,  keeping  watch  and 
ward.  If  an  intruder  approached,  they 
would  dart  at  him  spitefully.  These  fish 
have  the  air  of  bantam  cocks,  and  with  their 
sharp,  prickly  fins  and  spines,  and  scaly  sides, 
must  be  ugly  customers  in  a  hand  to  hand 
encounter  with  other  finny  warriors.  To  a 
hungry  man  they  look  about  as  unpromising 
as  hemlock  slivers,  so  thorny  and  thin  are 
they ;  yet  there  is  sweet  meat  in  them,  as  we 
found  that  day. 

Much  refreshed  I  set  out,  with  the  sun 
low  in  the  west,  to  explore  the  outlet  of  the 
lake  and  try  for  trout  there,  while  my  com- 
panions made  further  trials  in  the  lake  it- 
self. The  outlet,  as  is  usual  in  bodies  of 
water  of  this  kind,  was  very  gentle  and  pri- 
vate. The  stream,  six  or  eight  feet  wide, 
flowed  silently  and  evenly  along  for  a  dis- 
tance of  three  or  four  rods,  when  it  suddenly, 
as  if  conscious  of  its  freedom,  took  a  leap 
down  some  rocks.  Thence,  as  far  as  I  fol- 
lowed it,  its  descent  was  very  rapid,  through 
a  continuous  succession  of  brief  falls,  like  so 


234  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

many  steps  down  the  mountain.  Its  appear- 
ance promised  more  trout  than  I  found, 
though  I  returned  to  camp  with  a  very  re- 
spectable string. 

Toward  sunset  I  went  round  to  explore 
the  inlet,  and  found  that  as  usual  the  stream 
wound  leisurely  through  marshy  ground. 
The  water  being  much  colder  than  in  the  out- 
let, the  trout  were  more  plentiful.  As  I  was 
picking  my  way  over  the  miry  ground  and 
through  the  rank  growths,  a  ruffed  grouse 
hopped  up  on  a  fallen  branch  a  few  paces  be- 
fore me,  and,  jerking  his  tail,  threatened  to 
take  flight.  But  as  I  was  at  that  moment 
gunless,  and  remained  stationary,  he  pres- 
ently jumped  down  and  walked  away. 

A  seeker  of  birds,  and  ever  on  the  alert 
for  some  new  acquaintance,  my  attention  was 
arrested,  on  first  entering  the  swamp,  by  a 
bright,  lively  song,  or  warble,  that  issued 
from  the  branches  overhead,  and  that  was 
entirely  new  to  me,  though  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  tone  of  it  that  told  me  the  bird 
was  related  to  the  wood-wagtail  and  to  the 
water-wagtail  or  thrush.  The  strain  was  em- 
phatic and  quite  loud,  like  the  canary's,  but 
very  brief.  The  bird  kept  itself  well  secreted 
in  the  upper  branches  of  the  trees,  and  for  a 


I 

BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  235 

long  time  eluded  my  eye.  I  passed  to  and 
fro  several  times,  and  it  seemed  to  break  out 
afresh  as  I  approached  a  certain  little  bend 
in  the  creek,  and  to  cease  after  I  had  got 
beyond  it ;  no  doubt  its  nest  was  somewhere 
in  the  vicinity.  After  some  delay  the  bird 
was  sighted  and  brought  down.  It  proved 
to  be  the  small,  or  Northern,  water-thrush 
(called  also  the  New  York  water-thrush)  — 
a  new  bird  to  me.  In  size  it  was  noticeably 
smaller  than  the  large,  or  Louisiana,  water- 
thrush,  as  described  by  Audubon,  but  in 
other  respects  its  general  appearance  was 
the  same.  It  was  a  great  treat  to  me,  and 
again  I  felt  myself  in  luck. 

This  bird  was  unknown  to  the  older  orni- 
thologists, and  is  but  poorly  described  by  the 
new.  It  builds  a  mossy  nest  on  the  ground, 
or  under  the  edge  of  a  decayed  log.  A  cor- 
respondent writes  me  that  he  has  found  it 
breeding  on  the  mountains  in  Pennsylvania. 
The  large-billed  water-thrush  is  much  the 
superior  songster,  but  the  present  species 
has  a  very  bright  and  cheerful  strain.  The 
specimen  I  saw,  contrary  to  the  habits  of 
the  family,  kept  in  the  tree-tops  like  a  war- 
bler, and  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  catching 
insects. 


236  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

The  birds  were  unusually  plentiful  and 
noisy  about  the  head  of  this  lake  ;  robins, 
blue-jays,  and  woodpeckers  greeted  me  with 
their  familiar  notes.  The  blue-jays  found 
an  owl  or  some  wild  animal  a  short  distance 
above  me,  and,  as  is  their  custom  on  such 
occasions,  proclaimed  it  at  the  top  of  their 
voices,  and  kept  on  till  the  darkness  began 
to  gather  in  the  woods. 

I  also  heard  here,  as  I  had  at  two  or  three 
other  points  in  the  course  of  the  day,  the 
peculiar,  resonant  hammering  of  some  spe- 
cies of  woodpecker  upon  the  hard,  dry  limbs. 
It  was  unlike  any  sound  of  the  kind  I  had 
ever  before  heard,  and,  repeated  at  intervals 
through  the  silent  woods,  was  a  very  marked 
and  characteristic  feature.  Its  peculiarity 
was  the  ordered  succession  of  the  raps,  which 
gave  it  the  character  of  a  premeditated  per- 
formance. There  were  first  three  strokes 
following  each  other  rapidly,  then  two  much 
louder  ones  with  longer  intervals  between 
them.  I  heard  the  drumming  here,  and  the 
next  day  at  sunset  at  Furlow  Lake,  the  source 
of  Dry  Brook,  and  in  no  instance  was  the 
order  varied.  There  was  melody  in  it,  such 
as  a  woodpecker  knows  how  to  evoke  from  a 
smooth,  dry  branch.  It  suggested  something 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  237 

quite  as  pleasing  as  the  liveliest  bird-song, 
and  was  if  anything  more  woodsy  and  wild. 
As  the  yellow-bellied  woodpecker  was  the 
most  abundant  species  in  these  woods,  I  at- 
tributed it  to  him.  It  is  the  one  sound  that 
still  links  itself  with  those  scenes  in  my 
mind. 

At  sunset  the  grouse  began  to  drum  in  all 
parts  of  the  woods  about  the  lake.  I  could 
hear  five  at  one  time,  thump,  thump,  thump, 
thump,  tkr-r-r-r^r-r-rr.  It  was  a  homely, 
welcome  sound.  As  I  returned  to  camp  at 
twilight,  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  the 
frogs  also  were  in  full  chorus.  The  older 
ones  ripped  out  their  responses  to  each  other 
with  terrific  force  and  volume.  I  know  of 
no  other  animal  capable  of  giving  forth  so 
much  sound,  in  proportion  to  its  size,  as  a 
frog.  Some  of  these  seemed  to  bellow  as 
loud  as  a  two-year-old  bull.  They  were  of 
immense  size,  and  very  abundant.  No  frog- 
eater  had  ever  been  there.  Near  the  shore 
we  felled  a  tree  which  reached  far  out  in  the 
lake.  Upon  the  trunk  and  branches  the 
frogs  had  soon  collected  in  large  numbers, 
and  gambolled  and  splashed  about  the  half- 
submerged  top  like  a  parcel  of  school-boys, 
making  nearly  as  much  noise. 


238  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

After  dark,  as  I  was  frying  the  fish,  a 
panful  of  the  largest  trout  was  accidentally 
capsized  in  the  fire.  With  rueful  counte- 
nances we  contemplated  the  irreparable  loss 
our  commissariat  had  sustained  by  this  mis- 
hap ;  but  remembering  there  was  virtue  in 
ashes,  we  poked  the  half-consumed  fish  from 
the  bed  of  coals  and  ate  them,  and  they  were 
good. 

We  lodged  that  night  on  a  brush-heap, 
and  slept  soundly.  The  green,  yielding 
beech-twigs,  covered  with  a  buffalo  robe, 
were  equal  to  a  hair  mattress.  The  heat 
and  smoke  from  a  large  fire  kindled  in  the 
afternoon  had  banished  every  "  no-see-em  " 
from  the  locality,  and  in  the  morning  the 
sun  was  above  the  mountain  before  we  awoke. 

I  immediately  started  again  for  the  inlet, 
and  went  far  up  the  stream  toward  its  source. 
A  fair  string  of  trout  for  breakfast  was  my 
reward.  The  cattle  with  the  bell  were  at  the 
head  of  the  valley,  where  they  had  passed 
the  night.  Most  of  them  were  two-year-old 
steers.  They  came  up  to  me  and  begged  for 
salt,  and  scared  the  fish  by  their  importuni- 
ties. 

We  finished  our  bread  that  morning,  and 
ate  every  fish  we  could  catch,  and  about  ten 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  239 

o'clock  prepared  to  leave  the  lake.  The 
weather  had  been  admirable,  and  the  lake 
was  a  gem,  and  I  would  gladly  have  spent  a 
week  in  the  neighborhood ;  but  the  question 
of  supplies  was  a  serious  one,  and  would 
brook  no  delay. 

When  we  reached,  on  our  return,  the  point 
where  we  had  crossed  the  line  of  marked 
trees  the  day  before,  the  question  arose 
whether  we  should  still  trust  ourselves  to 
this  line,  or  follow  our  own  trail  back  to  the 
spring  and  the  battlement  of  rocks  on  the 
top  of  the  mountain,  and  thence  to  the  rock 
where  the  guide  had  left  us.  We  decided 
in  favor  of  the  former  course.  After  a 
march  of  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  the  blazed 
trees  ceased,  and  we  concluded  we  were  near 
the  point  at  which  we  had  parted  with  the 
guide.  So  we  built  a  fire,  laid  down  our 
loads,  and  cast  about  on  all  sides  for  some 
clue  as  to  our  exact  locality.  Nearly  an 
hour  was  consumed  in  this  manner  and  with- 
out any  result.  I  came  upon  a  brood  of 
young  grouse,  which  diverted  me  for  a  mo- 
ment. The  old  one  blustered  about  at  a 
furious  rate,  trying  to  draw  all  attention  to 
herself,  while  the  young  ones,  which  were 
unable  to  fly,  hid  themselves.  She  whined 


240  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

like  a  dog  in  great  distress,  and  dragged  her- 
self along  apparently  with  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty. As  I  pursued  her,  she  ran  very  nim- 
bly, and  presently  flew  a  few  yards.  Then 
as  I  went  on,  she  flew  farther  and  farther 
each  time,  till  at  last  she  got  up,  and  went 
humming  through  the  woods  as  if  she  had 
no  interest  in  them.  I  went  back  and  caught 
one  of  the  young,  which  had  simply  squatted 
close  to  the  leaves.  I  took  it  up  and  set  it 
on  the  palm  of  my  hand,  which  it  hugged  as 
closely  as  if  still  upon  the  ground.  I  then 
put  it  in  my  coatsleeve,  when  it  ran  and  nes- 
tled in  my  armpit. 

When  we  met  at  the  sign  of  the  smoke, 
opinions  differed  as  to  the  most  feasible 
course.  There  was  no  doubt  but  that  we 
could  get  out  of  the  woods,  but  we  wished 
to  get  out  speedily  and  as  near  as  possible 
to  the  point  where  we  had  entered.  Half 
ashamed  of  our  timidity  and  indecision,  we 
finally  tramped  away  back  to  where  we  had 
crossed  the  line  of  blazed  trees,  followed  our 
old  trail  to  the  spring  on  the  top  of  the 
range,  and,  after  much  searching  and  scour- 
ing to  the  right  and  left,  found  ourselves  at 
the  very  place  we  had  left  two  hours  before. 
Another  deliberation  and  a  divided  council. 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  241 

But  something  must  be  done.  It  was  then 
mid-afternoon,  and  the  prospect  of  spending 
another  night  on  the  mountains,  without 
food  or  drink,  was  not  pleasant.  So  we 
moved  down  the  ridge.  Here  another  line 
of  marked  trees  was  found,  the  course  of 
which  formed  an  obtuse  angle  with  the  one 
we  had  followed.  It  kept  on  the  top  of  the 
ridge  for  perhaps  a  mile,  when  it  entirely 
disappeared,  and  we  were  as  much  adrift  as 
ever.  Then  one  of  the  party  swore  an  oath, 
and  said  he  was  going  out  of  those  woods,  hit 
or  miss,  and  wheeling  to  the  right,  instantly 
plunged  over  the  brink  of  the  mountain. 
The  rest  followed,  but  would  fain  have 
paused  and  ciphered  away  at  their  own  un- 
certainties, to  see  if  a  certainty  could  not  be 
arrived  at  as  to  where  we  would  come  out. 
But  our  bold  leader  was  solving  the  problem 
in  the  right  way.  Down  and  down  and  still 
down  we  went,  as  if  we  were  to  bring  up  in 
the  bowels  of  the  earth.  It  was  by  far  the 
steepest  descent  we  had  made,  and  we  felt  a 
grim  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  we  could 
not  retrace  our  steps  this  time,  be  the  issue 
what  it  might.  As  we  paused  on  the  brink 
of  a  ledge  of  rocks,  we  chanced  to  see 
through  the  trees  distant  cleared  land.  A 
house  or  barn  also  was  dimly  descried. 


242  BIRCH  BROWSINGS. 

This  was  encouraging,  but  we  could  not 
make  out  whether  it  was  on  Beaver  Kill  or 
Mill  Brook  or  Dry  Brook,  and  did  not  long 
stop  to  consider  where  it  was.  We  at  last 
brought  up  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  gorge, 
through  which  flowed  a  rapid  creek  that  lit- 
erally swarmed  with  trout.  But  we  were  in 
no  mood  to  catch  them,  and  pushed  on  along 
the  channel  of  the  stream,  sometimes  leap- 
ing from  rock  to  rock,  and  sometimes 
splashing  heedlessly  through  the  water,  and 
speculating  the  while  as  to  where  we  would 
probably  come  out.  On  the  Beaver  Kill, 
my  companions  thought ;  but  from  the  posi- 
tion of  the  sun,  I  said  on  the  Mill  Brook, 
about  six  miles  below  our  team  ;  for  I  re- 
membered having  seen,  in  coming  up  this 
stream,  a  deep,  wild  valley  that  led  up  into 
the  mountains,  like  this  one.  Soon  the 
banks  of  the  stream  became  lower,  and  we 
moved  into  the  woods.  Here  we  entered 
upon  an  obscure  wood-road,  which  presently 
conducted  us  into  the  midst  of  a  vast  hem- 
lock forest.  The  land  had  a  gentle  slope, 
and  we  wondered  why  the  lumbermen  and 
barkmen  who  prowl  through  these  woods 
had  left  this  fine  tract  untouched.  Beyond 
this  the  forest  was  mostly  birch  and  maple. 
We  were  now  close  to  the  settlement,  and 


BIRCH  BROWSINGS.  243 

began  to  hear  human  sounds.  One  rod 
more,  and  we  were  out  of  the  woods.  It 
took  us  a  moment  to  comprehend  the  scene. 
Things  looked  very  strange  at  first,  but 
quickly  they  began  to  change  and  to  put  on 
familiar  features.  Some  magic  scene-shift- 
ing seemed  to^  take  place  before  my  eyes, 
till,  instead  of  the  unknown  settlement 
which  I  at  first  seemed  to  look  upon,  there 
stood  the  farmhouse  at  which  we  had 
stopped  two  days  before,  and  at  the  same 
moment  we  heard  the  stamping  of  our  team 
in  the  barn.  We  sat  down  and  laughed 
heartily  over  our  good  luck.  Our  desperate 
venture  had  resulted  better  than  we  had 
dared  to  hope,  and  had  shamed  our  wisest 
plans.  At  the  house  our  arrival  had  been 
anticipated  about  this  time,  and  dinner  was 
being  put  upon  the  table. 

It  was  then  five  o'clock,  so  that  we  had 
been  in  the  woods  just  forty-eight  hours ; 
but  if  time  is  only  phenomenal,  as  the  phi- 
losophers say,  and  life  only  in  feeling,  as  the 
poets  aver,  we  were  some  months,  if  not 
years,  older  at  that  moment  than  we  had 
been  two  days  before.  Yet  younger  too,  — 
though  this  be  a  paradox,  —  for  the  birches 
had  infused  into  us  some  of  their  own  sup- 
pleness and  strength. 


THE  BLUEBIRD. 

WHEN  Nature  made  the  bluebird  she 
wished  to  propitiate  both  the  sky  and  the 
earth,  so  she  gave  him  the  color  of  the  one 
on  his  back  and  the  hue  of  the  other  on  his 
breast,  and  ordained  that  his  appearance  in 
spring  should  denote  that  the  strife  and  war 
between  these  two  elements  was  at  an  end. 
He  is  the  peace-harbinger  ;  in  him  the  celes- 
tial and  terrestrial  strike  hands  and  are  fast 
friends.  He  means  the  furrow  and  he  means 
the  warmth ;  he  means  all  the  soft,  wooing 
influences  of  the  spring  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  retreating  footsteps  of  winter  on  the 
other. 

It  is  sure  to  be  a  bright  March  morning 
when  you  first  hear  his  note  ;  and  it  is  as  if 
the  milder  influences  up  above  had  found  a 
voice  and  let  a  word  fall  upon  your  ear,  so 
tender  is  it  and  so  prophetic,  —  a  hope  tinged 
with  a  regret. 

"Bermuda!  Bermuda!  Bermuda!"  he 
seems  to  say,  as  if  both  invoking  and  lament- 


THE  BLUEBIRD.  245 

ing,  and  behold !  Bermuda  follows  close, 
though  the  little  pilgrim  may  be  only  repeat- 
ing the  tradition  of  his  race,  himself  having 
come  only  from  Florida,  the  Carolinas,  or 
even  from  Virginia,  where  he  has  found  his 
Bermuda  on  some  broad,  sunny  hill-side 
thickly  studded  with  cedars  and  persimmon 
trees. 

In  New  York  and  in  New  England  the 
sap  starts  up  in  the  sugar-maple  the  very 
day  the  bluebird  arrives,  and  sugar-making 
begins  forthwith.  The  bird  is  generally  a 
mere  disembodied  voice  ;  a  rumor  in  the  air 
for  two  or  three  days  before  it  takes  visible 
shape  before  you.  The  males  are  the  pio- 
neers, and  come  several  days  in  advance  of 
the  females.  By  the  time  both  are  here  and 
the  pair  have  begun  to  prospect  for  a  place 
to  nest,  sugar-making  is  over,  the  last  vestige 
of  snow  has  disappeared,  and  the  plough  is 
brightening  its  mould-board  in  the  new  fur- 
row. 

The  bluebird  enjoys  the  preeminence  of 
being  the  first  bit  of  color  that  cheers  our 
northern  landscape.  The  other  birds  that 
arrive  about  the  same  time — the  sparrow, 
the  robin,  the  phoabe-bird  —  are  clad  in 
neutral  tints,  gray,  brown,  or  russet;  but 


246  THE  BLUEBIRD. 

the  bluebird  brings  one  of  the  primary  hues 
and  the  divinest  of  them  all. 

This  bird  also  has  the  distinction  of  an- 
swering very  nearly  to  the  robin  redbreast 
of  English  memory,  and  was  by  the  early 
settlers  of  New  England  christened  the  blue- 
robin. 

It  is  a  size  or  two  larger,  and  the  ruddy 
hue  of  its  breast  does  not  verge  so  nearly  on 
an  orange,  but  the  manners  and  habits  of 
the  two  birds  are  very  much  alike.  Our 
bird  has  the  softest  voice,  but  the  English 
redbreast  is  much  the  most  skilled  musician. 
He  has  indeed  a  fine,  animated  warble, 
heard  nearly  the  year  through  about  Eng- 
lish gardens  and  along  the  old  hedge-rows, 
that  is  quite  beyond  the  compass  of  our 
bird's  instrument.  On  the  other  hand,  our 
bird  is  associated  with  the  spring  as  the 
British  species  cannot  be,  being  a  winter 
resident  also,  while  the  brighter  sun  and  sky 
of  the  New  World  has  given  him  a  coat 
that  far  surpasses  that  of  his  transatlantic 
cousin. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  among  British 
birds  there  is  no  blue  bird.  The  cerulean 
tint  seems  much  rarer  among  the  feathered 
tribes  there  than  here.  On  this  continent 


THE  BLUEBIRD.  247 

there  are  at  least  three  species  of  the  com- 
mon bluebird,  while  in  all  our  woods  there 
are  the  blue- jay  and  the  indigo-bird,  —  the 
latter  so  intensely  blue  as  to  fully  justify 
its  name.  There  is  also  the  blue  grossbeak, 
not  much  behind  the  indigo-bird  in  intensity 
of  color ;  and  among  our  warblers  the  blue 
tint  is  very  common. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  the  blue- 
bird is  not  confined  to  any  one  section  of  the 
country ;  and  that  when  one  goes  West  he 
will  still  have  this  favorite  with  him,  though 
a  little  changed  in  voice  and  color,  just 
enough  to  give  variety  without  marring  the 
identity. 

The  Western  bluebird  is  considered  a  dis- 
tinct species,  and  is  perhaps  a  little  more 
brilliant  and  showy  than  its  Eastern  brother ; 
and  Nuttall  thinks  its  song  is  more  varied, 
sweet,  and  tender.  Its  color  approaches  to 
ultramarine,  while  it  has  a  sash  of  chestnut- 
red  across  its  shoulders,  —  all  the  effects,  I 
suspect,  of  that  wonderful  air  and  sky  of  Cal- 
ifornia, and  of  those  great  Western  plains ; 
or  if  one  goes  a  little  higher  up  into  the 
mountainous  regions  of  the  West,  he  finds 
the  Arctic  bluebird,  the  ruddy  brown  on  the 
breast  changed  to  greenish-blue,  and  the 


248  THE  BLUEBIRD. 

wings  longer  and  more  pointed  ;  in  other  re- 
spects not  differing  much  from  our  species. 

The  bluebird  usually  builds  its  nest  in  a 
hole  in  a  stump  or  stub,  or  in  an  old  cavity 
excavated  by  a  woodpecker,  when  such  can 
be  had ;  but  its  first  impulse  seems  to  be  to 
start  in  the  world  in  much  more  style,  and 
the  happy  pair  make  a  great  show  of  house- 
hunting about  the  farm-buildings,  now  half 
persuaded  to  appropriate  a  dove-cot,  then 
discussing  in  a  lively  manner  a  last  year's 
swallow's  nest,  or  proclaiming  with  much 
flourish  and  flutter  that  they  have  taken  the 
wren's  house,  or  the  tenement  of  the  pur- 
ple martin  ;  till  finally  nature  becomes  too 
urgent,  when  all  this  pretty  make-believe 
ceases,  and  most  of  them  settle  back  upon 
the  old  family  stumps  and  knot-froles  in 
remote  fields,  and  go  to  work  in  earnest. 

In  such  situations  the  female  is  easily  cap- 
tured by  approaching  very  stealthily  and 
covering  the  entrance  to  the  nest.  The  bird 
seldom  makes  any  effort  to  escape,  seeing 
how  hopeless  the  case  is,  and  keeps  her  place 
on  the  nest  till  she  feels  your  hand  closing 
around  her.  I  have  looked  down  into  the 
cavity  and  seen  the  poor  thing  palpitating 
with  fear  and  looking  up  with  distended 


THE  BLUEBIRD.  249 

eyes,  but  never  moving  till  I  had  withdrawn 
a  few  paces ;  then  she  rushes  out  with  a  cry 
that  brings  the  male  on  the  scene  in  a  hurry. 
He  warbles  and  lifts  his  wings  beseechingly, 
but  shows  no  anger  or  disposition  to  scold 
and  complain,  like  most  birds.  Indeed,  this 
bird  seems  incapable  of  uttering  a  harsh 
note,  or  of  doing  a  spiteful,  ill-tempered 
thing. 

The  ground-builders  all  have  some  art  or 
device  to  decoy  one  away  from  the  nest, 
affecting  lameness,  a  crippled  wing,  or  a 
broken  back,  promising  an  easy  capture  if 
pursued.  The  tree  -  builders  depend  upon 
concealing  the  nest  or  placing  it  beyond 
reach.  But  the  bluebird  has  no  art  either 
way,  and  its  nest  is  easily  found. 

About  the  only  enemies  the  sitting  bird 
or  the  nest  is  in  danger  of,  are  snakes  and 
squirrels.  I  knew  of  a  farm-boy  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  putting  his  hand  down  into 
a  bluebird's  nest  and  taking  out  the  old  bird 
whenever  he  came  that  way.  One  day  he 
put  his  hand  in,  and  feeling  something  pecu- 
liar, withdrew  it  hastily,  when  it  was  in- 
stantly followed  by  the  head  and  neck  of  an 
enormous  black  snake.  The  boy  took  to 
his  heels,  and  the  snake  gave  chase,  pressing 


250  THE  BLUEBIRD. 

him  close  till  a  ploughman  near  by  came  to 
the  rescue  with  his  ox-whip. 

There  never  was  a  happier  or  more  de- 
voted husband  than  the  male  bluebird  is. 
But  among  nearly  all  our  familiar  birds  the 
serious  cares  of  life  seem  to  devolve  almost 
entirely  upon  the  female.  The  male  is  hila- 
rious and  demonstrative ;  the  female,  serious 
and  anxious  about  her  charge.  The  male 
is  the  attendant  of  the  female,  following  her 
wherever  she  goes.  He  never  leads,  never 
directs,  but  only  seconds  and  applauds.  If 
his  life  is  all  poetry  and  romance,  hers  is 
all  business  and  prose.  She  has  no  pleasure 
but  her  duty,  and  no  duty  but  to  look  after 
her  nest  and  brood.  She  shows  no  affection 
for  the  male,  no  pleasure  in  his  society ;  she 
only  tolerates  him  as  a  necessary  evil,  and 
if  he  is  killed,  goes  in  quest  of  another,  in 
the  most  business-like  manner,  as  you  would 
go  :for  the  plumber  or  the  glazier.  In  most 
cases  the  male  is  the  ornamental  partner  in 
the  firm,  and  contributes  little  of  the  work- 
ing capital.  There  seems  to  be  more  equality 
of  the  sexes  among  the  woodpeckers,  wrens, 
and  swallows ;  while  the  contrast  is  greatest 
perhaps  in  the  bobolink  family,  where  the 
courting  is  done  in  the  Arab  fashion,  the 


THE  BLUEBIRD.  251 

female  fleeing  with  all  her  speed,  and  the 
male  pursuing  with  equal  precipitation  ;  and 
were  it  not  for  the  broods  of  young  birds 
that  appear,  it  would  be  hard  to  believe  that 
the  intercourse  ever  ripened  into  anything 
more  intimate. 

With  the  bluebirds  the  male  is  useful  as 
well  as  ornamental.  He  is  the  gay  champion 
and  escort  of  the  female  at  all  times,  and 
while  she  is  sitting  he  feeds  her  regularly. 
It  is  very  pretty  to  watch  them  building 
their  nest.  The  male  is  very  active  in  hunt- 
ing out  a  place  and  exploring  the  boxes  and 
cavities,  but  seems  to  have  no  choice  in  the 
matter,  and  is  anxious  only  to  please  and 
encourage  his  mate,  who  has  the  practical 
turn  and  knows  what  will  do  and  what  will 
not.  After  she  has  suited  herself  he  ap- 
plauds her  immensely,  and  away  the  two  go 
in  quest  of  material  for  the  nest,  the  male 
acting  as  guard,  and  flying  above  and  in  ad- 
vance of  the  female.  She  brings  all  the  ma- 
terial, and  does  all  the  work  of  building,  he 
looking  on  and  encouraging  her  with  gesture 
and  song.  He  acts  also  as  inspector  of  her 
work,  but  I  fear  is  a  very  partial  one.  She 
enters  the  nest  with  her  bit  of  dry  grass  or 
straw,  and  having  adjusted  it  to  her  notion, 


252  THE  BLUEBIRD. 

withdraws  and  waits  near  by  while  he  goes 
in  and  looks  it  over.  On  coming  out  he 
exclaims  very  plainly,  "Excellent!  excel- 
lent !  "  and  away  the  two  go  again  for  more 
material. 

The  bluebirds,  when  they  build  about  the 
farm-buildings,  sometimes  come  in  conflict 
with  the  swallows.  The  past  season  I  knew 
a  pair  to  take  forcible  possession  of  the 
domicile  of  a  pair  of  the  latter,  —  the  cliff 
species,  that  now  stick  their  nests  under  the 
eaves  of  the  barn.  The  bluebirds  had  been 
broken  up  in  a  little  bird-house  near  by,  by 
the  rats  or  perhaps  a  weasel,  and  being  no 
doubt  in  a  bad  humor,  and  the  season  being 
well  advanced,  they  made  forcible  entrance 
into  the  adobe  tenement  of  their  neighbors, 
and  held  possession  of  it  for  some  days,  but 
I  believe  finally  withdrew,  rather  than  live 
amid  such  a  squeaky,  noisy  colony.  I  have 
heard  that  these  swallows,  when  ejected  from 
their  homes  in  that  way  by  the  phoebe-bird, 
have  been  known  to  fall  to  and  mason  up 
the  entrance  to  the  nest  while  their  enemy 
was  inside  of  it,  thus  having  a  revenge  as 
complete  and  cruel  as  anything  in  human 
annals. 

The  bluebirds  and  the  house-wrens  more 


THE  BLUEBIRD.  253 

frequently  come  into  collision.  A  few  years 
ago  I  put  up  a  little  bird-house  in  the  back 
end  of  my  garden  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  wrens,  and  every  season  a  pair  have 
taken  up  their  abode  there.  One  spring  a 
pair  of  bluebirds  looked  into  the  tenement, 
and  lingered  about  several  days,  leading  me 
to  hope  that  they  would  conclude  to  occupy 
it.  But  they  finally  went  away,  and  later 
in  the  season  the  wrens  appeared,  and  after 
a  little  coquetting,  were  regularly  installed 
in  their  old  quarters,  and  were  as  happy  as 
only  wrens  can  be. 

One  of  our  younger  poets,  Myron  Benton, 
saw  a  little  bird 

"  Ruffled  with  whirlwind  of  his  ecstasies," 

which  must  have  been  the  wren,  as  I  know 
of  no  other  bird  that  so  throbs  and  palpitates 
with  music  as  this  little  vagabond.  And  the 
pair  I  speak  of  seemed  exceptionably  happy, 
and  the  male  had  a  small  tornado  of  song  in 
his  crop  that  kept  him  "  ruffled  "  every  mo- 
ment in  the  day.  But  before  their  honey- 
moon was  over,  the  bluebirds  returned.  I 
knew  something  was  wrong  before  I  was  up 
in  the  morning.  Instead  of  that  voluble  and 
gushing  song  outside  the  window,  I  heard 
the  wrens  scolding  and  crying  at  a  fearful 


254  THE  BLUEBIRD. 

rate,  and  on  going  out  saw  the  bluebirds  in 
possession  of  the  box.  The  poor  wrens  were 
in  despair  ;  they  wrung  their  hands  and  tore 
their  hair,  after  the  wren  fashion,  but  chiefly 
did  they  rattle  out  their  disgust  and  wrath 
at  the  intruders.  I  have  no  doubt  that  if  it 
could  have  been  interpreted,  it  would  have 
proven  the  rankest  and  most  voluble  Bil- 
lingsgate ever  uttered.  For  the  wren  is 
saucy,  and  he  has  a  tongue  in  his  head  that 
can  outwag  any  other  tongue  known  to  me. 

The  bluebirds  said  nothing,  but  the  male 
kept  an  eye  on  Mr.  Wren ;  and  when  he 
came  too  near,  gave  chase,  driving  him  to 
cover  under  the  fence,  or  under  a  rubbish- 
heap  or  other  object,  where  the  wren  would 
scold  and  rattle  away,  while  his  pursuer  sat 
on  the  fence  or  the  pea-brush,  waiting  for 
him  to  reappear. 

Days  passed,  and  the  usurpers  prospered 
and  the  outcasts  were  wretched  ;  but  the  lat- 
ter lingered  about,  watching  and  abusing 
their  enemies,  and  hoping,  no  doubt,  that 
things  would  take  a  turn,  as  they  presently 
did.  The  outraged  wrens  were  fully  avenged. 
The  mother  bluebird  had  laid  her  full  com- 
plement of  eggs,  and  was  beginning  to  set, 
when  one  day,  as  her  mate  was  perched 


THE  BLUEBIRD.  255 

above  her  on  the  barn,  along  came  a  boy 
with  one  of  those  wicked  elastic  slings,  and 
cut  him  down  with  a  pebble.  There  he  lay 
like  a  bit  of  sky  fallen  upon  the  grass.  The 
widowed  bird  seemed  to  understand  what 
had  happened,  and  without  much  ado  disap- 
peared next  day  in  quest  of  another  mate. 
How  she  contrived  to  make  her  wants  known 
without  trumpeting  them  about,  I  am  unable 
to  say.  But  I  presume  the  birds  have  a  way 
of  advertising  that  answers  the  purpose  well. 
Maybe  she  trusted  to  luck  to  fall  in  with 
some  stray  bachelor  or  bereaved  male,  who 
would  undertake  to  console  a  widow  of  one 
day's  standing.  I  will  say,  in  passing,  that 
there  are  no  bachelors  from  choice  among 
the  birds ;  they  are  all  rejected  suitors, 
while  old  maids  are  entirely  unknown. 
There  is  a  Jack  to  every  Gill,  and  some  to 
boot. 

The  males  being  more  exposed  by  their 
song  and  plumage,  and  by  being  the  pio- 
neers in  migrating,  seemed  to  be  slightly  in 
excess,  lest  the  supply  fall  short,  and  hence 
it  sometimes  happens  that  a  few  are  bache- 
lors perforce  ;  there  are  not  females  enough 
to  go  around,  but  before  the  season  is  over 
there  are  sure  to  be  some  vacancies  in  the 


256  TEE  BLUEBIRD. 

marital  ranks,  which  they  are  called  on  to 

BE 

In  the  mean  time  the  wrens  were  beside 
themselves  with  delight ;  they  fairly  screamed 
with  joy.  If  the  male  was  before  "  ruffled 
with  whirlwind  of  his  ecstasies,"  he  was  now 
in  danger  of  being  rent  asunder.  He  in- 
flated his  throat  and  carolled  as  wren  never 
carolled  before.  And  the  female,  too,  how 
she  cackled  and  darted  about!  How  busy 
they  both  were !  Rushing  into  the  nest,  they 
hustled  those  eggs  out  in  less  than  a  minute, 
wren  time.  They  carried  in  new  material, 
and  by  the  third  day  were  fairly  installed 
again  in  their  old  quarters ;  but  on  the  third 
day,  so  rapidly  are  these  little  dramas  played, 
the  female  bluebird  reappeared  with  another 
mate.  Ah  !  how  the  wren  stock  went  down 
then !  What  dismay  and  despair  filled  again 
those  little  breasts!  It  was  pitiful.  They 
did  not  scold  as  before,  but  after  a  day  or 
two,  withdrew  from  the  garden,  dumb  with 
grief,  and  gave  up  the  struggle. 

The  bluebird,  finding  her  eggs  gone  and 
her  nest  changed,  seemed  suddenly  seized 
with  alarm  and  shunned  the  box ;  or  else, 
finding  she  had  less  need  for  another  husband 
than  she  thought,  repented  her  rashness  and 


THE  BLUEBIRD.  257 

wanted  to  dissolve  the  compact.  But  the 
happy  bridegroom  would  not  take  the  hint, 
and  exerted  all  his  eloquence  to  comfort  and 
reassure  her.  He  was  fresh  and  fond,  and 
until  this  bereaved  female  found  him,  I  am 
sure  his  suit  had  not  prospered  that  season. 
He  thought  the  box  just  the  thing,  and  that 
there  was  no  need  of  alarm,  and  spent  days 
in  trying  to  persuade  the  female  back.  See- 
ing he  could  not  be  a  step-father  to  a  family, 
he  was  quite  willing  to  assume  a  nearer  rela- 
tion. He  hovered  about  the  box,  he  went  in 
and  out,  he  called,  he  warbled,  he  entreated ; 
the  female  would  respond  occasionally  and 
come  and  alight  near,  and  even  peep  into  the 
nest,  but  would  not  enter  it,  and  quickly  flew 
away  again.  Her  mate  would  reluctantly 
follow,  but  he  was  soon  back,  uttering  the 
most  confident  and  cheering  calls.  If  she 
did  not  come,  he  would  perch  above  the  nest 
and  sound  his  loudest  notes  over  and  over 
again,  looking  in  the  direction  of  his  mate, 
and  beckoning  with  every  motion.  But  she 
responded  less  and  less  frequently.  Some 
days  I  would  see  him  only,  but  finally  he 
gave  it  up ;  the  pair  disappeared,  and  the 
box  remained  deserted  the  rest  of  the  sum- 
mer. 


THE  INVITATION. 

YEARS  ago,  when  quite  a  youth,  I  was 
rambling  in  the  woods  one  Sunday  with  my 
brothers,  gathering  black  birch,  wintergreens, 
etc.,  when,  as  we  reclined  upon  the  ground, 
gazing  vaguely  up  into  the  trees,  I  caught 
sight  of  a  bird  that  paused  a  moment  on  a 
branch  above  me,  the  like  of  which  I  had 
never  before  seen  or  heard  of.  It  was  prob- 
ably the  blue  yellow-backed  warbler,  as  I 
have  since  found  this  to  be  a  common  bird 
in  those  woods;  but  to  my  young  fancy  it 
seemed  like  some  fairy  bird,  so  curiously 
marked  was  it,  and  so  new  and  unexpected. 
I  saw  it  a  moment  as  the  flickering  leaves 
parted,  noted  the  white  spot  on  its  wing,  and 
it  was  gone.  How  the  thought  of  it  clung 
to  me  afterward !  It  was  a  revelation.  It 
was  the  first  intimation  I  had  had  that  the 
woods  we  knew  so  well  held  birds  that  we 
knew  not  at  all.  Were  our  eyes  and  ears  so 
dull,  then?  There  was  the  robin,  the  blue- 
jay,  the  bluebird,  the  yellow-bird,  the  cherry- 


THE  INVITATION.  259 

bird,  the  cat-bird,  the  chipping-bird,  the 
woodpecker,  the  high-hole,  an  occasional  red- 
bird,  and  a  few  others,  in  the  woods,  or  along 
their  borders ;  but  who  ever  dreamed  that 
there  were  still  others  that  not  even  the  hun- 
ters saw,  and  whose  names  no  one  had  ever 
heard  ? 

When,  one  summer  day,  later  in  life,  I 
took  my  gun,  and  went  to  the  woods  again, 
in  a  different  though  perhaps  a  less  simple 
spirit,  I  found  my  youthful  vision  more  than 
realized.  There  were  indeed  other  birds, 
plenty  of  them,  singing,  nesting,  breeding, 
among  the  familiar  trees,  which  I  had  before 
passed  by  unheard  and  unseen. 

It  is  a  surprise  that  awaits  every  student 
of  ornithology,  and  the  thrill  of  delight  that 
accompanies  it,  and  the  feeling  of  fresh, 
eager  inquiry  that  follows,  can  hardly  be 
awakened  by  any  other  pursuit.  Take  the 
first  step  in  ornithology,  procure  one  new 
specimen,  and  you  are  ticketed  for  the  whole 
voyage.  There  is  a  fascination  about  it 
quite  overpowering.  It  fits  so  well  with 
other  things  —  with  fishing,  hunting,  farm- 
ing, walking,  camping-out  —  with  all  that 
takes  one  to  the  fields  and  woods.  One  may 
go  a  blackberrying  and  make  some  rare  dis- 


260  THE  INVITATION. 

co very ;  or  while  driving  his  cow  to  pasture 
hear  a  new  song,  or  make  a  new  observation. 
Secrets  lurk  on  all  sides.  There  is  news  in 
every  bush.  Expectation  is  ever  on  tiptoe. 
What  no  man  ever  saw  before  may  the  next 
moment  be  revealed  to  you.  What  a  new 
interest  the  woods  have !  How  you  long  to 
explore  every  nook  and  corner  of  them ! 
You  would  even  find  consolation  in  being 
lost  in  them.  You  could  then  hear  the  night 
birds  and  the  owls,  and  in  your  wanderings, 
might  stumble  upon  some  unknown  speci- 
men. 

In  all  excursions  to  the  woods  or  to  the 
shore,  the  student  of  ornithology  has  an  ad- 
vantage over  his  companions.  He  has  one 
more  resource,  one  more  avenue  of  delight. 
He  indeed  kills  two  birds  with  one  stone, 
and  sometimes  three.  If  others  wander,  he 
can  never  go  out  of  his  way.  His  game  is 
everywhere.  The  cawing  of  a  crow  makes 
him  feel  at  home,  while  a  new  note  or  a  new 
song  drowns  all  care.  Audubon,  on  the  des- 
olate coast  of  Labrador,  is  happier  than  any 
king  ever  was,  and  on  shipboard  is  nearly 
cured  of  his  sea-sickness  when  a  new  gull 
appears  in  sight. 

One  must  taste  it  to  understand  or  ap- 


THE  INVITATION.  261 

preciate  its  fascination.  The  looker-on  sees 
nothing  to  inspire  such  enthusiasm.  Only  a 
little  feathers  and  a  half -musical  note  or  two ; 
why  all  this  ado  ?  "  Who  would  give  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  dollars  to  know  about  the 
birds  ?  "  said  an  Eastern  governor,  half  con- 
temptuously, to  Wilson,  as  the  latter  solicit- 
ed a  subscription  to  his  great  work.  Sure 
enough.  Bought  knowledge  is  dear  at  any 
price.  The  most  precious  things  have  no 
commercial  value.  It  is  not,  your  Excel- 
lency, mere  technical  knowledge  of  the  birds 
that  you  are  asked  to  purchase,  but  a  new 
interest  in  the  fields  and  woods,  a  new  moral 
and  intellectual  tonic,  a  new  key  to  the  treas- 
ure-house of  nature.  Think  of  the  many 
other  things  your  Excellency  would  get :  the 
air,  the  sunshine,  the  healing  fragrance  and 
coolness,  and  the  many  respites  from  the 
knavery  and  turmoil  of  political  life. 

Yesterday  was  an  October  day  of  rare 
brightness  and  warmth.  I  spent  the  most 
of  it  in  a  wild,  wooded  gorge  of  Rock  Creek. 
A  persimmon-tree  which  stood  upon  the 
bank  had  dropped  some  of  its  fruit  in  the 
water.  As  I  stood  there,  half-leg  deep,  pick- 
ing them  up,  a  wood-duck  came  flying  down 
the  creek,  and  passed  over  my  head.  Pres- 


262  THE  INVITATION. 

ently  it  returned,  flying  up;  then  it  came 
back  again,  and  sweeping  low  around  a  bend, 
prepared  to  alight  in  a  still,  dark  reach  in 
the  creek  which  was  hidden  from  my  view. 
As  I  passed  that  way  about  half  an  hour 
afterward,  the  duck  started  up,  uttering  its 
wild  alarm  note.  In  the  stillness  I  could 
hear  the  whistle  of  its  wings  and  the  splash 
of  the  water  when  it  took  flight.  Near  by 
I  saw  where  a  raccoon  had  come  down  to 
the  water  for  fresh  clams,  leaving  his  long, 
sharp  track  in  the  mud  and  sand.  Before 
I  had  passed  this  hidden  stretch  of  water,  a 
pair  of  those  mysterious  thrushes,  the  gray- 
cheeked,  flew  up  from  the  ground,  and 
perched  on  a  low  branch. 

Who  can  tell  how  much  this  duck,  this 
footprint  in  the  sand,  and  these  strange 
thrushes  from  the  far  North,  enhanced  the 
interest  and  charm  of  the  autumn  woods  ? 

Ornithology  cannot  be  learned  satisfac- 
torily from  the  books.  The  satisfaction  is 
in  learning  it  from  nature.  One  must  have 
an  original  experience  with  the  birds.  The 
books  are  only  the  guide,  the  invitation. 
Though  there  remain  not  another  new  spe- 
cies to  describe,  any  young  person  with 
health  and  enthusiasm  has  opened  to  him  or 


THE  INVITATION.  263 

her  the  whole  field  anew,  and  is  eligible  to 
experience  all  the  thrill  and  delight  of  origi- 
nal discoverers. 

But  let  me  say,  in  the  same  breath,  that 
the  books  can  by  no  manner  of  means  be 
dispensed  with.  A  copy  of  Wilson  or  Au- 
dubon,  for  reference  and  to  compare  notes 
with,  is  invaluable.  In  lieu  of  these,  access 
to  some  large  museum  or  collection  would 
be  a  great  help.  In  the  beginning,  one 
finds  it  very  difficult  to  identify  a  bird  from 
any  verbal  description.  Reference  to  a  col- 
ored plate,  or  to  a  stuffed  specimen,  at  once 
settles  the  matter.  This  is  the  chief  value 
of  the  books :  they  are  charts  to  sail  by ; 
the  route  is  mapped  out,  and  much  time  and 
labor  thereby  saved.  First  find  your  bird ; 
observe  its  ways,  its  song,  its  calls,  its  flight, 
its  haunts ;  then  shoot  it  (not  ogle  it  with 
a  glass),  and  compare  with  Audubon.  In 
this  way  the  feathered  kingdom  may  soon 
be  conquered. 

The  ornithologists  divide  and  subdivide 
the  birds  into  a  great  many  families,  or- 
ders, genera,  species,  etc.,  which  at  first 
sight  are  apt  to  confuse  and  discourage  the 
reader.  But  any  interested  person  can  ac- 
quaint himself  with  most  of  our  song-birds, 


264  THE  INVITATION. 

by  keeping  in  mind  a  few  general  divisions 
and  observing  the  characteristics  of  each. 
By  far  the  greater  number  of  our  land- 
birds  are  either  warblers,  vireos,  fly-catchers, 
thrushes,  or  finches. 

The  warblers  are  perhaps  the  most  puz- 
zling. These  are  the  true  Sylvise,  the  real 
wood-birds.  They  are  small,  very  active, 
but  feeble  songsters,  and  to  be  seen  must  be 
sought  for.  In  passing  through  the  woods 
most  persons  have  a  vague  consciousness  of 
slight  chirping,  semi-musical  sounds  in  the 
trees  overhead.  In  most  cases  these  sounds 
proceed  from  the  warblers.  Throughout  the 
Middle  and  Eastern  States  half  a  dozen  spe- 
cies or  so  may  be  found  in  almost  every  lo- 
cality, as  the  redstart,1  the  Maryland  yellow- 
throat,  the  yellow  warbler  (not  the  common 
goldfinch,  with  black  cap,  and  black  wings 
and  tail),  the  hooded  warbler,  the  black  and 
white  creeping  warbler  ;  or  others,  according 
to  the  locality  and  the  character  of  the  woods. 
In  pine  or  hemlock  woods,  one  species  may 
predominate ;  in  maple  or  oak  woods,  or  in 

1  I  am  aware  that  the  redstart  is  generally  classed  among 
the  fly-catchers,  but  its  song,  its  form,  and  its  habits  are  in 
every  respect  those  of  a  warbler.  Its  main  fly-catcher  mark 
is  its  beak,  but  to  the  musdcapa  proper  it  presents  little  or  no 
resemblance  to  the  general  observer. 


THE  INVITATION.  265 

mountainous  districts,  another.  The  subdi- 
vision of  ground  warblers,  the  most  common 
members  of  which  are  the  Maryland  yel- 
low-throat, the  Kentucky  warbler,  and  the 
mourning  ground  warbler,  is  usually  found 
in  low,  wet,  bushy,  or  half-open  woods,  often 
on,  and  always  near,  the  ground. 

The  summer  yellow-bird,  or  yellow  war- 
bler, is  not  now  a  wood-bird  at  all,  being 
found  in  orchards  and  parks,  and  along 
streams,  and  in  the  trees  of  villages  and 
cities. 

As  we  go  north  the  number  of  warblers 
increases,  till,  in  the  northern  part  of  New 
England,  and  in  the  Canadas,  as  many  as 
ten  or  twelve  varieties  may  be  found  breed- 
ing in  June.  Audubon  found  the  black-poll 
warbler  breeding  in  Labrador,  and  congrat- 
ulates himself  on  being  the  first  white  man 
who  had  ever  seen  its  nest.  When  these 
warblers  pass  north  in  May,  they  seem  to  go 
singly  or  in  pairs,  and  their  black  caps  and 
striped  coats  show  conspicuously.  When 
they  return  in  September,  they  are  in  troops 
or  loose  flocks,  are  of  a  uniform  dull  drab 
or  brindlish  color,  and  are  very  fat.  They 
scour  the  tree-tops  for  a  few  days,  almost 
eluding  the  eye  by  their  quick  movements, 
and  are  gone. 


266  THE  INVITATION. 

According  to  my  own  observation,  the 
number  of  species  of  warblers  which  one  liv- 
ing in  the  middle  districts  sees,  on  their  re- 
turn in  the  fall,  is  very  small,  compared  with 
the  number  he  may  observe  migrating  North 
in  the  spring. 

The  yellow-rumped  warblers  are  the  most 
noticeable  of  all  in  the  autumn.  They  come 
about  the  streets  and  garden,  and  seem  es- 
pecially drawn  to  dry,  leafless  trees.  They 
dart  spitefully  about,  uttering  a  sharp  chirp. 
In  Washington  I  have  seen  them  in  the  out- 
skirts all  winter. 

Audubon  figures  and  describes  over  forty 
different  warblers.  More  recent  writers 
have  divided  and  subdivided  the  group  very 
much,  giving  new  names  to  new  classifica- 
tions. But  this  part  is  of  interest  and  value 
only  to  the  professional  ornithologist. 

The  finest  songster  among  the  Sylvia3,  ac- 
cording to  my  notions,  is  the  black-throated 
greenback.  Its  song  is  sweet  and  clear,  but 
brief.  The  rarest  of  the  species  are  Swain- 
son's  warbler,  said  to  be  disappearing ;  the 
cerulean  warbler,  said  to  be  abundant  about 
Niagara ;  and  the  mourning  ground  warbler, 
which  I  have  found  breeding  about  the 
head-waters  of  the  Delaware,  in  New  York. 


THE  INVITATION.  267 

The  vireos,  or  greenlets,  are  a  sort  of  con- 
necting link  between  the  warblers  and  the 
true  fly-catchers,  and  partake  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  both. 

The  red-eyed  vireo,  whose  sweet  soliloquy 
is  one  of  the  most  constant  and  cheerful 
sounds  in  our  woods  and  groves,  is  perhaps 
the  most  noticeable  and  abundant  species. 
The  vireos  are  a  little  larger  than  the  war- 
blers, and  are  far  less  brilliant  and  variegat- 
ed in  color. 

There  are  four  species  found  in  most  of 
our  woods,  namely,  the  red-eyed  vireo,  the 
white-eyed  vireo,  the  warbling  vireo,  and 
the  solitary  vireo,  —  the  red-eyed  and  war- 
bling being  most  abundant,  and  the  white- 
eyed  being  the  most  lively  and  animated 
songster.  I  meet  the  latter  bird  only  in 
the  thick,  bushy  growths  of  low,  swampy 
localities,  where,  eluding  the  observer,  it 
pours  forth  its  song  with  a  sharpness  and 
a  rapidity  of  articulation  that  are  truly  as- 
tonishing. This  strain  is  very  marked,  and 
though  inlaid  with  the  notes  of  several 
other  birds,  is  entirely  unique.  The  iris  of 
this  bird  is  white,  as  that  of  the  red-eyed  is 
red,  though  in  neither  case  can  this  mark 
be  distinguished  at  more  than  two  or  three 


268  THE  INVITATION. 

yards.  In  most  cases  the  iris  of  birds  is  a 
dark  hazel,  which  passes  for  black. 

The  basket-like  nest,  pendent  to  the  low 
branches  in  the  woods,  which  the  falling 
leaves  of  autumn  reveal  to  all  passers,  is  in 
most  cases  the  nest  of  the  red-eyed,  though 
the  solitary  constructs  a  similar  tenement, 
but  in  much  more  remote  and  secluded  lo- 
calities. 

The  general  color  of  this  group  of  birds 
is  very  light  ash  beneath,  becoming  darker 
above,  with  a  tinge  of  green.  The  red-eyed 
has  a  crown  of  a  bluish  tinge. 

Most  birds  exhibit  great  alarm  and  dis- 
tress, usually  with  a  strong  dash  of  anger, 
when  you  approach  their  nests ;  but  the  de- 
meanor of  the  red-eyed,  on  such  an  occasion, 
is  an  exception  to  this  rule.  The  parent 
birds  move  about  softly  amid  the  branches 
above,  eying  the  intruder  with  a  curious, 
innocent  look,  uttering,  now  and  then,  a  sub- 
dued note  or  plaint,  solicitous  and  watchful, 
but  making  no  demonstration  of  anger  or 
distress. 

The  birds,  no  more  than  the  animals,  like 
to  be  caught  napping  ;  but  I  remember,  one 
autumn  day,  of  coming  upon  a  red-eyed  vireo 
that  was  clearly  oblivious  to  all  that  was 


THE  INVITATION.  269 

passing  around  it.  It  was  a  young  bird, 
though  full  grown,  and  it  was  taking  its 
siesta  on  a  low  branch  in  a  remote  heathery 
field.  Its  head  was  snugly  stowed  away 
under  its  wing,  and  it  would  have  fallen  an 
easy  prey  to  the  first  hawk  that  came  along. 
I  approached  noiselessly,  and  when  within 
a  few  feet  of  it  paused  to  note  its  breathings, 
so  much  more  rapid  and  full  than  our  own. 
A  bird  has  greater  lung  capacity  than  any 
other  living  thing,  hence  more  animal  heat, 
and  life  at  a  higher  pressure.  When  I 
reached  out  my  hand  and  carefully  closed  it 
around  the  winged  sleeper,  its  sudden  terror 
and  consternation  almost  paralyzed  it.  Then 
it  struggled  and  cried  piteously,  and  when 
released,  hastened  and  hid  itself  in  some 
near  bushes.  I  never  expected  to  surprise 
it  thus  a  second  time. 

The  fly-catchers  are  a  larger  group  than 
the  vireos,  with  stronger  marked  character- 
istics. They  are  not  properly  songsters, 
but  are  classed  by  some  writers  as  screech- 
ers.  Their  pugnacious  dispositions  are  well 
known,  and  they  not  only  fight  among  them- 
selves, but  are  incessantly  quarrelling  with 
their  neighbors.  The  king-bird,  or  tyrant 
fly-catcher,  might  serve  as  the  type  of  the 
order. 


270  THE  INVITATION. 

The  common  pewee  excites  the  most  pleas- 
ant emotions,  both  on  account  of  its  plaintive 
note  and  its  exquisite  mossy  nest. 

The  phoebe-bird  is  the  pioneer  of  the  fly- 
catchers, and  comes  in  April,  sometimes  in 
March.  It  comes  familiarly  about  the  house 
and  out-buildings,  and  usually  builds  beneath 
hay-sheds  or  under  bridges. 

The  fly-catchers  always  take  their  insect 
prey  on  the  wing,  by  a  sudden  darting  or 
swooping  movement ;  often  a  very  audible 
snap  of  the  beak  may  be  heard. 

These  birds  are  the  least  elegant,  both  in 
form  and  color,  of  any  of  our  feathered 
neighbors.  They  have  short  legs,  a  short 
neck,  large  heads,  and  broad,  flat  beaks, 
with  bristles  at  the  base.  They  often  fly 
with  a  peculiar  quivering  movement  of  the 
wings,  and  when  at  rest,  oscillate  their  tails 
at  short  intervals. 

There  are  found  in  the  United  States  nine- 
teen species.  In  the  Middle  and  Eastern 
districts,  one  may  observe  in  summer,  with- 
out any  special  search,  about  five  of  them, 
namely,  the  king-bird,  the  pho3be-bird,  the 
wood-pewee,  the  great-crested  fly-catcher  (dis- 
tinguished from  all  others  by  the  bright  fer- 
ruginous color  of  its  tail),  and  the  small 
green-crested  fly-catcher. 


THE  INVITATION.  271 

The  thrushes  are  the  birds  of  real  melody, 
and  will  afford  one  more  delight  perhaps  than 
any  other  class.  The  robin  is  the  most  fa- 
miliar example.  Their  manners,  flight,  and 
form  are  the  same  in  each  species.  See  the 
robin  hop  along  upon  the  ground,  strike  an 
attitude,  scratch  for  a  worm,  fix  his  eye  upon 
something  before  him  or  upon  the  beholder, 
flip  his  wings  suspiciously,  fly  straight  to  his 
perch,  or  sit  at  sundown  on  some  high  branch, 
carolling  his  sweet  and  honest  strain,  and 
you  have  seen  what  is  characteristic  of  all 
the  thrushes.  Their  carriage  is  preeminently 
marked  by  grace,  and  their  songs  by  melody. 

Beside  the  robin,  which  is  in  no  sense  a 
wood-bird,  we  have,  in  New  York,  the  wood- 
thrush,  the  hermit-thrush,  the  veery,  or  Wil- 
son's thrush,  the  olive-backed  thrush,  and 
transiently,  one  or  two  other  species  not  so 
clearly  defined. 

The  wood-thrush  and  the  hermit  stand  at 
the  head  as  songsters,  no  two  persons  per- 
haps agreeing  as  to  which  is  the  superior. 

Under  the  general  head  of  finches,  Audu- 
bon  describes  over  sixty  different  birds,  rang- 
ing from  the  sparrows  to  the  grossbeaks,  and 
including  the  buntings,  the  linnets,  the  snow- 
birds, the  cross-bills,  and  the  red-birds. 


272  THE  INVITATION. 

We  have  nearly  or  quite  a  dozen  varieties 
of  the  sparrow  in  the  Atlantic  States,  but 
perhaps  no  more  than  half  that  number 
would  be  discriminated  by  the  unprofes- 
sional observer.  The  song-sparrow,  which 
every  child  knows,  comes  first ;  at  least,  his 
voice  is  first  heard.  And  can  there  be  any- 
thing more  fresh  and  pleasing  than  this  first 
simple  strain,  heard  from  the  garden  fence 
or  a  near  hedge,  on  some  bright,  still  March 
morning  ? 

The  field,  or  vesper-sparrow,  called  also 
grass-finch,  and  bay-winged  sparrow,  a  bird 
slightly  larger  than  the  song-sparrow,  and  of 
a  lighter  gray  color,  is  abundant  in  all  our 
upland  fields  and  pastures,  and  is  a  very 
sweet  songster.  It  builds  upon  the  ground, 
without  the  slightest  cover  or  protection, 
and  also  roosts  there.  Walking  through  the 
fields,  at  dusk,  I  frequently  start  them  up 
almost  beneath  my  feet.  When  disturbed  by 
day  they  fly  with  a  quick,  sharp  movement, 
showing  two  white  quills  in  the  tail.  The 
traveller  along  the  country  roads  disturbs 
them  earthing  their  wings  in  the  soft,  dry 
earth,  or  sees  them  skulking  and  flitting 
along  the  fences  in  front  of  him.  They  run 
in  the  furrow  in  advance  of  the  team,  or 


THE  INVITATION.  273 

perch  upon  the  stones  a  few  rods  off.  They 
sing  much  after  sundown,  hence  the  aptness 
of  the  name  vesper-sparrow,  which  a  recent 
writer,  Wilson  Flagg,  has  bestowed  upon 
them. 

In  the  meadows  and  low,  wet  lands,  the 
Savannah  sparrow  is  met  with,  and  may  be 
known  by  its  fine,  insect-like  song.  In  the 
swamp,  the  swamp-sparrow. 

The  fox-sparrow,  the  largest  and  hand- 
somest species  of  this  family,  comes  to  us  in 
the  fall,  from  the  North,  where  it  breeds. 
Likewise  the  tree,  or  Canada  sparrow,  and 
the  white-crowned  and  white-throated  spar- 
rows. 

The  social  -  sparrow,  alias  "hair -bird," 
alias  "  red -headed  chipping -bird,"  is  the 
smallest  of  the  sparrows,  and,  I  believe,  the 
only  one  that  builds  in  trees. 

The  finches,  as  a  class,  all  have  short,  coni- 
cal bills,  with  tails  more  or  less  forked.  The 
purple  finch  heads  the  list  in  varied  musical 
ability. 

Beside  the  groups  of  our  more  familiar 
birds  which  I  have  thus  hastily  outlined, 
there  are  numerous  other  groups,  more  lim- 
ited in  specimens,  but  comprising  some  of 
our  best  known  songsters.  The  bobolink, 


274  THE  INVITATION. 

for  instance,  has  properly  no  congener.  The 
famous  mocking-bird  of  the  Southern  States 
belongs  to  a  genus  which  has  but  two  other 
representatives  in  the  Atlantic  States,  name- 
ly, the  cat-bird  and  the  long-tailed  or  ferru- 
ginous thrush. 

The  wrens  are  a  large  and  interesting 
family,  and  as  songsters  are  noted  for  viva- 
city and  volubility.  The  more  common  spe- 
cies are  the  house-wren,  the  wood-wren,  the 
marsh-wren,  the  great  Carolina  wren,  and 
the  winter-wren,  the  latter  perhaps  deriving 
its  name  from  the  fact  that  it  breeds  in  the 
North.  It  is  an  exquisite  songster,  and 
pours  forth  its  notes  so  rapidly  and  with 
such  sylvan  sweetness  and  cadence,  that  it 
seems  to  go  off  like  a  musical  alarm. 

Wilson  called  the  kinglets  wrens,  but  they 
have  little  to  justify  the  name,  except  their 
song,  which  is  of  the  same  continuous,  gush- 
ing, lyrical  character  as  that  referred  to 
above.  Dr.  Brewer  was  entranced  with  the 
song  of  one  of  these  tiny  minstrels  in  the 
woods  of  New  Brunswick,  and  thought  he 
had  found  the  author  of  the  strain  of  the 
black-poll  warbler.  He  seems  loath  to  be- 
lieve that  a  bird  so  small  as  either  of  the 
kinglets  could  possess  such  vocal  powers.  It 


THE  INVITATION.  275 

may  indeed  have  been  the  winter-wren,  but 
from  my  own  observation  I  believe  the 
golden-crowned  kinglet  quite  capable  of 
such  a  performance. 

But  I  must  leave  this  part  of  the  subject 
and  hasten  on.  As  to  works  on  ornithology, 
Audubon's,  though  its  expense  puts  it  be- 
yond the  reach  of  the  mass  of  readers,  is, 
by  far  the  most  full  and  accurate.  His 
drawings  surpass  all  others  in  accuracy  and 
spirit,  while  his  enthusiasm  and  devotion  to 
the  work  he  had  undertaken  have  but  few 
parallels  in  the  history  of  science.  His 
chapter  on  the  wild  goose  is  as  good  as  a 
poem.  One  readily  overlooks  his  style,  which 
is  often  verbose  and  affected,  in  considera- 
tion of  enthusiasm  so  genuine  and  purpose 
so  single. 

There  has  never  been  a  keener  eye  than 
Audubon's,  though  there  have  been  more 
discriminative  ears.  Nuttall,  for  instance,  is 
far  more  happy  in  his  descriptions  of  the 
songs  and  notes  of  birds,  and  more  to  be  re- 
lied upon.  Audubon  thinks  the  song  of  the 
Louisiana  water-thrush  equal  to  that  of  the 
European  nightingale,  and  as  he  had  heard 
both  birds,  one  would  think  was  prepared  to 
judge.  Yet  he  has  no  doubt  overrated  the 


276  THE  INVITATION. 

one,  and  underrated  the  other.  The  song  of 
the  water-thrush  is  very  brief,  compared  with 
the  philomel's,  and  its  quality  is  brightness 
and  vivacity,  while  that  of  the  latter  bird,  if 
the  books  are  to  be  credited,  is  melody  and 
harmony.  Again,  he  says  the  song  of  the 
blue  grossbeak  resembles  the  bobolink's, 
which  it  does  about  as  much  as  the  color  of 
the  two  birds  resembles  each  other ;  one  is 
black  and  white,  and  the  other  is  blue.  The 
song  of  the  wood-wagtail,  he  says,  consists  of 
a  "  short  succession  of  simple  notes  begin- 
ning with  emphasis  and  gradually  falling." 
The  truth  is  they  run  up  the  scale  instead 
of  down;  beginning  low  and  ending  in  a 
shriek. 

Yet  considering  the  extent  of  Audubon's 
work,  the  wonder  is  the  errors  are  so  few. 
I  can  at  this  moment  recall  but  one  obser- 
vation of  his,  the  contrary  of  which  I  have 
proved  to  be  true.  In  his  account  of  the 
bobolink,  he  makes  a  point  of  the  fact  that 
in  returning  South  in  the  fall  they  do  not 
travel  by  night,  as  they  do  when  moving 
North  in  the  spring.  In  Washington  I  have 
heard  their  calls,  as  they  flew  over  at  night, 
for  four  successive  autumns.  As  he  devoted 
the  whole  of  a  long  life  to  the  subject,  and 


THE  INVITATION.  277 

figured  and  described  over  four  hundred  spe- 
cies, one  feels  a  real  triumph  on  finding  in 
our  common  woods  a  bird  not  described  in 
his  work.  I  have  seen  but  two.  Walking 
in  the  woods  one  day  in  early  fall,  in  the 
vicinity  of  West  Point,  I  started  up  a  thrush 
that  was  sitting  on  the  ground.  It  alighted 
on  a  branch  a  few  yards  off,  and  looked  new 
to  me.  I  thought  I  had  never  before  seen  so 
long-legged  a  thrush.  I  shot  it,  and  saw  that 
it  was  a  new  acquaintance.  Its  peculiarities 
were  its  broad,  square  tail ;  the  length  of  its 
legs,  which  were  three  and  three  quarters 
inches  from  the  end  of  the  middle  toe  to  the 
hip-joint ;  and  the  deep  uniform  olive-brown 
of  the  upper  parts,  and  the  gray  of  the  lower. 
It  proved  to  be  the  gray-cheeked  thrush 
named  and  first  described  by  Professor 
Baird.  But  little  seems  to  be  known  con- 
cerning it,  except  that  it  breeds  in  the  far 
North,  even  on  the  shores  of  the  Arctic 
Ocean.  I  would  go  a  good  way  to  hear  its 
song. 

The  present  season  I  met  with  a  pair  of 
them  near  Washington  as  mentioned  above. 
In  size  this  bird  approaches  the  wood-thrush, 
being  larger  than  either  the  hermit  or  the 
veery ;  unlike  all  other  species,  no  part  of 


278  THE  INVITATION. 

its  plumage  has  a  tawny  or  yellowish  tinge. 
The  other  specimen  was  the  Northern  or 
small  water -thrush,  cousin -german  to  the 
oven-bird,  and  half-brother  to  the  Louisi- 
ana water-thrush  or  wagtail.  I  found  it  at 
the  head  of  a  remote  mountain  lake  among 
the  sources  of  the  Delaware,  where  it  evi- 
dently had  a  nest.  It  usually  breeds  much 
farther  North.  It  has  a  strong,  clear  warble, 
which  at  once  suggests  the  song  of  its  con- 
gener. I  have  not  been  able  to  find  any  ac- 
count of  this  particular  species  in  the  books, 
though  it  seems  to  be  well  known. 

More  recent  writers  and  explorers  have 
added  to  Audubon's  list  over  three  hundred 
new  species,  the  greater  number  of  which 
belong  to  the  Northern  and  Western  parts 
of  the  Continent.  Audubon's  observations 
were  confined  mainly  to  the  Atlantic  and 
Gulf  States  and  the  adjacent  islands ;  hence 
the  Western  or  Pacific  birds  were  but  little 
known  to  him,  and  are  only  briefly  men- 
tioned in  his  works. 

It  is,  by  the  way,  a  little  remarkable  how 
many  of  the  Western  birds  seem  merely 
duplicates  of  the  Eastern.  Thus,  the  va- 
ried-thrush of  the  West  is  our  robin,  a  little 
differently  marked  ;  and  the  red-shafted 


THE  INVITATION.  279 

woodpecker  is  our  golden -wing,  or  high- 
hole,  colored  red  instead  of  yellow.  There 
is  also  a  Western  chickadee,  a  Western  che- 
wink,  a  Western  blue-jay,  a  Western  mead- 
ow-lark, a  Western  snow-bird,  a  Western 
bluebird,  a  Western  song-sparrow,  Western 
grouse,  quail,  hen-hawk,  etc.,  etc. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  birds  of  the 
West  seems  to  be  a  species  of  skylark,  met 
with  on  the  plains  of  Dakota,  which  mounts 
to  the  height  of  three  or  four  hundred  feet, 
and  showers  down  its  ecstatic  notes.  It  is 
evidently  akin  to  several  of  our  Eastern 
species. 

A  correspondent  writing  to  me  from  the 
country  one  September  says:  "I  have  ob- 
served recently  a  new  species  of  bird  here. 
They  alight  upon  the  buildings  and  fences 
as  well  as  upon  the  ground.  They  are  walk- 
ers." In  a  few  days  he  obtained  one,  and 
sent  me  the  skin.  It  proved  to  be  what  I 
had  anticipated,  namely,  the  American  pipit, 
or  titlark,  a  slender  brown  bird,  about  the 
size  of  the  sparrow,  which  passes  through  the 
States  in  the  fall  and  spring,  to  and  from 
its  breeding  haunts  in  the  far  North.  They 
generally  appear  by  twos  and  threes,  or  in 
small,  loose  flocks,  searching  for  food  on  banks 


280  THE  INVITATION. 

and  ploughed  ground.  As  they  fly  up,  they 
show  two  or  three  white  quills  in  the  tail,  like 
the  vesper-sparrow.  Flying  over,  they  utter 
a  single  chirp  or  cry  every  few  rods.  They 
breed  in  the  bleak,  moss-covered  rocks  of 
Labrador.  Their  eggs  have  also  been  found 
in  Vermont,  and  I  feel  quite  certain  that  I 
saw  this  bird  in  the  Adirondac  Mountains 
in  the  month  of  August.  The  male  launches 
into  the  air,  and  gives  forth  a  brief  but 
melodious  song,  after  the  manner  of  all  larks. 
They  are  walkers.  This  is  a  characteristic 
of  but  few  of  our  land-birds.  By  far  the 
greater  number  are  hoppers.  Note  the  track 
of  the  common  snow-bird ;  the  feet  are  not 
placed  one  in  front  of  the  other,  as  in  the 
track  of  the  crow  or  partridge,  but  side  by 
side.  The  sparrows,  thrushes,  warblers, 
woodpeckers,  buntings,  etc.,  are  all  hoppers. 
On  the  other  hand,  all  aquatic  or  semi-aqua- 
tic birds  are  walkers.  The  plovers  and  sand- 
pipers and  snipes  run  rapidly.  Among  the 
land-birds,  the  grouse,  pigeons,  quails,  larks, 
and  various  blackbirds,  walk.  The  swallows 
walk,  also,  whenever  they  use  their  feet  at 
all,  but  very  awkwardly.  The  larks  walk 
with  ease  and  grace.  Note  the  meadow-lark 
strutting  about  all  day  in  the  meadows. 


THE  INVITATION.  281 

Besides  being  walkers,  the  larks,  or  birds 
allied  to  the  larks,  all  sing  upon  the  wing, 
usually  poised  or  circling  in  the  air,  with  a 
hovering,  tremulous  flight.  The  meadow- 
lark  occasionally  does  this  in  the  early  part 
of  the  season.  At  such  times  its  long-drawn 
note  or  whistle  becomes  a  rich,  amorous  war- 
ble. 

The  bobolink,  also,  has  both  characteris- 
tics, and  notwithstanding  the  difference  of 
form  and  build,  etc.,  is  very  suggestive  of 
the  English  skylark,  as  it  figures  in  the 
books,  and  is,  no  doubt,  fully  its  equal  as  a 
songster. 

Of  our  small  wood-birds  we  have  three 
varieties,  east  of  the  Mississippi,  closely  re- 
lated to  each  other,  which  I  have  already 
spoken  of,  and  which  walk  and  sing,  more 
or  less,  on  the  wing,  namely,  the  two  species 
of  water-thrush,  or  wagtails,  and  the  oven- 
bird,  or  wood-wagtail.  The  latter  is  the  most 
common,  and  few  observers  of  the  birds  can 
have  failed  to  notice  its  easy,  gliding  walk. 
Its  other  lark  trait,  namely,  singing  in  the 
air,  seems  not  to  have  been  observed  by 
any  naturalist.  Yet,  it  is  a  well  established 
characteristic,  and  may  be  verified  by  any 
person  who  will  spend  a  half  hour  in  the 


282  THE  INVITATION. 

woods  where  this  bird  abounds,  on  some  June 
afternoon  or  evening.  I  hear  it  very  fre- 
quently after  sundown,  when  the  ecstatic 
singer  can  hardly  be  distinguished  against 
the  sky.  I  know  of  a  high,  bald-top  moun- 
tain, where  I  have  sat  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  heard  them  as  often  as  one  every  min- 
ute. Sometimes  the  bird  would  be  far  be- 
low me,  sometimes  near  at  hand ;  and  very 
frequently  the  singer  would  be  hovering  a 
hundred  feet  above  the  summit.  He  would 
start  from  the  trees  on  one  side  of  the  open 
space,  reach  his  climax  in  the  air,  and  plunge 
down  on  the  other  side.  Its  descent  after 
the  song  is  finished  is  very  rapid,  and  pre- 
cisely like  that  of  the  titlark  when  it  sweeps 
down  from  its  course  to  alight  on  the  ground. 
I  first  verified  this  observation  some  years 
ago.  I  had  long  been  familiar  with  the 
song,  but  had  only  strongly  suspected  the 
author  of  it,  when,  as  I  was  walking  in  the 
woods  one  evening,  just  as  the  leaves  were 
putting  out,  I  saw  one  of  these  birds  but  a 
few  rods  from  me.  I  was  saying  to  myself, 
half  audibly,  "  Come,  now,  show  off,  if  it  is 
you ;  I  have  come  to  the  woods  expressly  to 
settle  this  point,"  when  it  began  to  ascend, 
by  short  hops  and  flights,  through  the 


THE  INVITATION.  283 

branches,  uttering  a  sharp,  preliminary  chirp. 
I  followed  it  with  my  eye ;  saw  it  mount  into 
the  air  and  circle  over  the  woods,  and  saw  it 
sweep  down  again  and  dive  through  the  trees, 
almost  to  the  very  perch  from  which  it  had 
started. 

As  the  paramount  question  in  the  life  of 
a  bird  is  the  question  of  food,  perhaps  the 
most  serious  troubles  our  feathered  neigh- 
bors encounter  are  early  in  the  spring,  after 
the  supply  of  fat  with  which  nature  stores 
every  corner  and  by-place  of  the  system, 
thereby  anticipating  the  scarcity  of  food, 
has  been  exhausted,  and  the  sudden  and 
severe  changes  in  the  weather  which  occur 
at  this  season  make  unusual  demands  upon 
their  vitality.  No  doubt  many  of  the  earlier 
birds  die  from  starvation  and  exposure  at  this 
season.  Among  a  troop  of  Canada  sparrows, 
which  I  came  upon  one  March  day,  all  of 
them  evidently  much  reduced,  one  was  so 
feeble  that  I  caught  it  in  my  hand. 

During  the  present  season,  a  very  severe 
cold  spell  the  first  week  in  March  drove  the 
bluebirds  to  seek  shelter  about  the  houses 
and  out-buildings.  As  night  approached, 
and  the  winds  and  the  cold  increased,  they 
seemed  filled  with  apprehension  and  alarm, 


284  THE  INVITATION. 

and  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city  came  about 
the  windows  and  doors,  crept  behind  the 
blinds,  clung  to  the  gutters  and  beneath  the 
cornice,  flitted  from  porch  to  porch,  and 
from  house  to  house,  seeking  in  vain  for 
some  safe  retreat  from  the  cold.  The  street 
pump,  which  had  a  small  opening,  just  over 
the  handle,  was  an  attraction  which  they 
could  not  resist.  And  yet  they  seemed 
aware  of  the  insecurity  of  the  position ;  for 
no  sooner  would  they  stow  themselves  away 
into  the  interior  of  the  pump,  to  the  number 
of  six  or  eight,  than  they  would  rush  out 
again,  as  if  apprehensive  of  some  approach- 
ing danger.  Time  after  time  the  cavity  was 
filled  and  refilled,  with  blue  and  brown  inter- 
mingled, and  as  often  emptied.  Presently 
they  tarried  longer  than  usual,  when  I  made 
a  sudden  sally  and  captured  three,  that  found 
a  warmer  and  safer  lodging  for  the  night  in 
the  cellar. 

In  the  fall,  birds  and  fowls  of  all  kinds 
become  very  fat.  The  squirrels  and  mice 
lay  by  a  supply  of  food  in  their  dens  and 
retreats;  but  the  birds,  to  a  considerable 
extent,  especially  our  winter  residents,  carry 
an  equivalent  in  their  own  systems,  in  the 
form  of  adipose  tissue.  I  killed  a  red- 


THE  INVITATION.  285 

shouldered  hawk,  one  December,  and  on  re- 
moving the  skin,  found  the  body  completely 
encased  in  a  coating  of  fat  one  quarter  of 
an  inch  in  thickness.  Not  a  particle  of 
muscle  was  visible.  This  coating  not  only 
serves  as  a  protection  against  the  cold,  but 
supplies  the  waste  of  the  system,  when  food 
is  scarce,  or  fails  altogether. 

The  crows  at  this  season  are  in  the  same 
condition.  It  is  estimated  that  a  crow  needs 
at  least  half  a  pound  of  meat  per  day ;  but  it 
is  evident  that  for  weeks  and  months  during 
the  winter  and  spring,  they  must  subsist  on 
a  mere  fraction  of  this  amount.  I  have  no 
doubt  a  crow  or  hawk,  when  in  their  fall 
condition,  would  live  two  weeks  without  a 
morsel  of  food  passing  their  beaks ;  a  do- 
mestic fowl  will  do  as  much.  One  January, 
I  unwittingly  shut  a  hen  under  the  floor  of 
an  out-building,  where  not  a  particle  of  food 
could  be  obtained,  and  where  she  was  en- 
tirely unprotected  from  the  severe  cold. 
When  the  luckless  Dominick  was  discovered, 
about  eighteen  days  afterward,  she  was  brisk 
and  lively,  but  fearfully  pinched  up,  and  as 
light  as  a  bunch  of  feathers.  The  slightest 
wind  carried  her  before  it.  But  by  judicious 
feeding  she  was  soon  restored. 


286  THE  INVITATION. 

The  circumstance  of  the  bluebirds  being 
emboldened  by  the  cold  suggests  the  fact 
that  the  fear  of  man,  which  now  seems  like 
an  instinct  in  the  birds,  is  evidently  an  ac- 
quired trait,  and  foreign  to  them  in  a  state 
of  primitive  nature.  Every  gunner  has  ob- 
served, to  his  chagrin,  how  wild  the  pigeons 
become  after  a  few  days  of  firing  among 
them  ;  and  to  his  delight,  how  easy  it  is  to 
approach  near  his  game  in  new  or  unfre- 
quented woods.  Professor  Baird  tells  me 
that  a  correspondent  of  theirs  visited  a  small 
island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  situated  about 
two  hundred  miles  off  Cape  St.  Lucas,  to 
procure  specimens.  The  island  was  but  a 
few  miles  in  extent,  and  had  probably  never 
been  visited  half  a  dozen  times  by  human 
beings.  The  naturalist  found  the  birds  and 
water-fowls  so  tame  that  it  was  but  a  waste 
of  ammunition  to  shoot  them.  Fixing  a 
noose  on  the  end  of  a  long  stick,  he  captured 
them  by  putting  it  over  their  necks,  and 
hauling  them  to  him.  In  some  cases  not 
even  this  contrivance  was  needed.  A  species 
of  mocking-bird,  in  particular,  larger  than 
ours,  and  a  splendid  songster,  made  itself 
so  familiar  as  to  be  almost  a  nuisance,  hop- 
ping on  the  table  where  the  collector  was 


THE  INVITATION.  287 

writing,  and  scattering  the  pens  and  paper. 
Eighteen  species  were  found,  twelve  of  them 
peculiar  to  the  island. 

Thoreau  relates  that  in  the  woods  of 
Maine  the  Canada  jay  will  sometimes  make 
its  meal  with  the  lumbermen,  taking  the  food 
out  of  their  hands. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  the  birds  have  come 
to  look  upon  man  as  their  natural  enemy, 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  civilization  is, 
on  the  whole,  favorable  to  their  increase  and 
perpetuity,  especially  to  the  smaller  species. 
With  man  come  flies  and  moths,  and  insects 
of  all  kinds  in  greater  abundance ;  new 
plants  and  weeds  are  introduced,  and  with 
the  clearing  up  of  the  country  are  sowed 
broadcast  over  the  land. 

The  larks  and  snow-buntings  that  come  to 
us  from  the  North  subsist  almost  entirely 
upon  the  seeds  of  grasses  and  plants ;  and 
how  many  of  our  more  common  and  abun- 
dant species  are  field-birds,  and  entire  stran- 
gers to  deep  forests  ? 

In  Europe  some  birds  have  become  almost 
domesticated,  like  the  house-sparrow;  and  in 
our  own  country  the  cliff  swallow  seems  to 
have  entirely  abandoned  ledges  and  shelving 
rocks,  as  a  place  to  nest,  for  the  eaves  and 


288  THE  INVITATION. 

projections  of   farms   and   other   out-build- 
ings. 

After  one  has  made  the  acquaintance  of 
most  of  the  land-birds,  there  remain  the 
sea-shore  and  its  treasures.  How  little  one 
knows  of  the  aquatic  fowls,  even  after  read- 
ing carefully  the  best  authorities,  was  re- 
cently forced  home  to  my  mind  by  the  fol- 
lowing circumstance :  I  was  spending  a  vaca- 
tion in  the  interior  of  New  York,  when  one 
day  a  stranger  alighted  before  the  house,  and 
with  a  cigar  box  in  his  hand,  approached  me 
as  I  sat  in  the  doorway.  I  was  about  to  say 
that  he  would  waste  his  time  in  recommend- 
ing his  cigars  to  me,  as  I  never  smoked,  when 
he  said  that,  hearing  I  knew  something  about 
birds,  he  had  brought  me  one  which  had  been 
picked  up  a  few  hours  before  in  a  hay-field 
near  the  village,  and  which  was  a  stranger 
to  all  who  had  seen  it.  As  he  began  to  undo 
the  box  I  expected  to  see  some  of  our  own 
rarer  birds,  perhaps  the  rose-breasted  gross- 
beak  or  Bohemian  chatterer.  Imagine,  then, 
how  I  was  taken  aback,  when  I  beheld,  in- 
stead, a  swallow-shaped  bird,  quite  as  large 
as  a  pigeon,  with  forked  tail,  glossy-black 
above,  and  snow-white  beneath.  Its  parti- 
webbed  feet,  and  its  long,  graceful  wings,  at 


THE  INVITATION.  289 

a  glance  told  that  it  was  a  sea-bird ;  but  as 
to  its  name  or  habitat,  I  must  defer  my  an- 
swer till  I  could  get  a  peep  into  Audubon, 
or  some  large  collection. 

The  bird  had  fallen  down  exhausted  in  a 
meadow,  and  was  picked  up  just  as  the  life 
was  leaving  its  body.  The  place  must  have 
been  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  the 
sea,  as  the  bird  flies.  As  it  was  the  sooty- 
tern,  which  inhabits  the  Florida  Keys,  its 
appearance  so  far  north  and  so  far  inland 
may  be  considered  somewhat  remarkable. 
On  removing  the  skin  I  found  it  terribly 
emaciated.  It  had  no  doubt  starved  to 
death,  ruined  by  too  much  wing.  Another 
Icarus.  Its  great  power  of  flight  had  made 
it  bold  and  venturesome,  and  had  carried  it 
so  far  out  of  its  range  that  it  starved  before 
it  could  return. 

The  sooty-tern  is  sometimes  called  the  sea- 
swallow,  on  account  of  its  form  and  power 
of  flight.  It  will  fly  nearly  all  day  at  sea, 
picking  up  food  from  the  surface  of  the 
water.  There  are  several  species,  some  of 
them  strikingly  beautiful. 


INDEX. 


AUDUBON,  263,  276. 

Birds,  as  to  nesting,  classified, 

165. 
Songs  of  various,  16,  17, 

57,  58,  76. 

Distribution  of,  in  a  local- 
ity, 31. 

Distribution  of,  geographi- 
cally, 54. 
Instinct  of  cleanliness  in, 

131. 
Instinct  of  propagation  in, 

135. 
Relations  of  the  sexes  of, 

134. 

Blackbird,  Crow,  180. 
Bluebird,  10,  11,  244-257. 
Bobolink,  187. 
Bunting,  Black-throated,  189. 

Cow,  18,  80. 
Buzzard,  Turkey,  173. 

Cat-bird,  41.  ' 
Cedar-bird,  113,  125, 183. 
Chat,  Yellow-breasted,  199. 
Chickadee,  138. 
Creeper,  Black  and  White,  92. 
Crow,  173. 

Cuckoo,  Black-billed,  25,  26. 
Yellow-billed,  25. 

Dakota  Skylark,  279. 
Eagles,  The,  163. 

Finch,  Pine,  96,  114. 
Purple,  78,  96. 
Finches,  The,  271. 
Fly-catchers,  The,  269. 

Gnat-catcher,  154. 
Goldfinch,  American,  126. 

Blue,  147. 

Cardinal,  201. 


Orossbeak,  Rose-breasted,  76. 
Grouse,  Canada,  122,  239. 

Hawk,  Hen,  49. 

Pigeon,  48. 

Red-tailed,  152. 
Heron,  Great  Blue,  101. 
Humming-bird,  76, 116, 153. 

Indigo-bird,  144. 
Jay,  Canada,  287. 

Kingbird,  69. 
Kinglets,  The,  274. 

Lark,  Shore,  177. 
Larks,  The,  279. 

Oriole,  Baltimore,  143, 166. 

Orchard,  186. 
Owl,  Screech,  71. 

Partridge,  86. 
Pewees,  The,  69, 162. 
Phoebe-bird,  15,  76, 162. 

Redbird,  201. 
Robin,  12,  144. 

Skylark,  Dakota,  279. 
Snow-bird,  60,  96, 146. 
Sparrow,  Canada,  179. 

Chipping,  18, 

Field,  25,  272. 

Foi,  187. 

White-throated,  97. 

Wood,    or    Bush,    27, 

144. 

Sparrows,  The,  272. 
Swallows,  The,  133, 141, 184. 

Tanager,  Scarlet,  77. 

Tern,  Sooty,  288. 

Thrush,  Golden-crowned,  72. 


292 


INDEX. 


Thrush,  Gray-cheeked,  277. 

Hermit,  37,  62,  65, 114. 

Louisiana  Water,  197. 

New  York  Water,  235, 
278. 

Wilson's,  50,  62, 185. 

Wood,  36,  38,  62,  214, 

219. 

Thrushes,  The,  271. 
Titlark,  American,  279. 

Veery,  40,  62, 185. 

Vireo,  Bed-eyed,  59, 152,  268. 

Solitary,  149. 

Warbling,  93. 

White-eyed,  30,  267. 
Vireos,  The,  267. 

Wagtails,  The,  281. 
Warbler,  Audubon's,  97. 

Blackburnian,  64. 


Warbler,  Black. throated     Blue- 

back,  92. 

Black  -  throated,     Green- 
back, 91. 

Blue  Gray  (or  Gnat-catch- 
er), 154,  197. 
Blue,  Yellow-back,  64. 
Chestnut-sided,  90. 
Kentucky,  175. 
Mourning    Ground.    90, 

151. 
Speckled  Canada,  80,  83, 

97. 

Varied  Creeping,  92, 149. 
Warblers,  The,  197,  265. 
Woodpecker,  Downy,  19, 130. 
Golden-winged,  16,  20. 
Red-headed,  128,  202. 
Yellow-bellied,  130,  237. 
Wren,  Winter,  10,  30,  61. 
Wrens,  The,  274. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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